Words will Always Retain their Power
by The Readers Muse
Summary: For better or for worse it seemed that V, whoever he might have truly been, had succeeded. Parliament and Big Ben had been reduced to a gloriously charred snarl of smoldering rubble, dust, broken brick and bent metal slats.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I don't own V for Vendetta or any of its characters. Wishful thinking aside.

**Warnings:** This is a story that connects to the movie-verse version of V for Vendetta. It is meant to carry on post movie ending. All that I am aware of canon-wise is the events of the movie, thus this fiction revolves around my own interpretations of the movie (not the graphic novel). It is a Finch-centeric fic, with Finch/Dominic slash. So, in others words, there shall be in some shape or form, man on man happy time. Not your cup of tea? I suggest you pass it by. Still with me? Fabulous!

**Authors Note #1:** The title of this fiction is a line taken from the movie, from V's televised speech. I have also used portions of Valerie's letter as a plot device. I don't own it, so kudos where they are due of course. I decided to use the letter in particular not simply because it is a powerful, and indeed tragically beautiful way of passing on a very important lesson, but because I genuinely think it is something that Finch as a character _needs_ to read. In addition, you might recognize (in later chapters) the allusions I make to the possibility of Dominic having gone to the gates of parliament to protest with the rest of London. I based this assumption on the short, few seconds at the end of the movie where all the protesters unmask to watch the fireworks, Dominic is clearly seen in one of those scenes, and whether it was a physical or a metaphorical representation, I chose to allude to the fact throughout this fiction that he was there in both capacities.

**Authors Note #2:** Please read and review. I am excited to see what you all think. I am open to comments, advice, and constructive criticism. This is my first V for Vendetta story so I am especially looking for constructive feedback.

**Words will Always Retain their Power**

In truth he hadn't expected much out of Evey Hammond. Indeed by all rights simply for what he stood for, for what he had _done_ in the name of the government, she had strong cause to do away with him herself. Truth be told, he certainly wouldn't have blamed her if she tried.

_..But she didn't_.

Instead she took him by the arm and treated him quite cordially, familiarly even..as though they were long lost acquaintances rather then the queer pair that they were. With her being a wanted woman, an anti-government collaborator, and now a terrorist in her own right, and he the very same Police Inspector and party authority that had sought her arrest for over a year..

_Ironic how the tables can turn so completely... _How a slim chance and a sure victory can suddenly devolve into one willingly partaking in an act of terrorism, and high treason against the state. Or perhaps even more strangely, how he knew he would do it all over again in less then a heartbeat. A fact that he realized, didn't bother him nearly as much as it probably should have.

_Perhaps the madness was catching after all.._

However, madness aside, he couldn't help but be at least inwardly surprised when she led him up from the underground, her small, thin little arm tucked firmly together with his own. For a long moment all he had been able to do was stare. Glancing incredulously at the point where their arms had joined, the thin nature of her v-necked, threadbare jumper contrasting oddly with the thick material of his dark olive overcoat.

He had wanted to offer it to her, perhaps in a small attempt to mend the ragged edges the existed between them, or maybe even just to remind himself how it felt to just be generous and considerate without having to wonder who was watching, or how much such a gesture might cost him in the future. But he didn't. Besides he had a feeling that she wouldn't have accepted it anyway. Perhaps a year ago she would have, but not now and certainly not today.

Indeed she treated him all but intimately as they made their way up a seemingly endless rough hewn, circular staircase, the trek making him nearly dizzy by the time they reached the lift, and he could help but enjoy the reprieve as the ancient looking device took them to the roof with a disgruntled groan and grudging screech of old metal and long rusted gears.

And _together_, atop the very building that had housed a terrorist, a killer, an anarchist, an avenger, a revolutionary, a hero, and evidently, _a man_, they brushed shoulders as they watched the world change…

When the exhilarating display finally fizzled down to a close, and the last of the fireworks seemed all but exhausted, for the first time in what felt like a year, he finally let himself sag, unashamedly letting the railing take the brunt of his weight. Closing his eyes into the chill evening breeze he sensed, rather then felt, as his entire body seemed to fold into itself, tensing and relaxing in tandem as he blew out a long, weary breath. An action that seemed to take far more energy out of him then it rightly should have.

_God, he was tired.._

For better or for worse it seemed that V, whoever he might have truly been, had succeeded. Parliament and Big Ben had been reduced to a gloriously charred snarl of smouldering rubble, dust, broken brick and bent metal slats. And now, it seemed that only time would tell if it had truly been for the good of it all..

Though, in spite of himself he couldn't help but be affected by the moment, by the hope that was now strumming through his breast, seemingly emboldened by the triumphant cannon blasts and magnificent orchestral genius that was Tchaikovsky's 1812 Overture.

_Hope.. Much like justice had been long since absent from the streets of this country._

No. He had not expected hope; he had not imagined that comfort. He had not even expected civility. _Not from this moment..and certainly not from her. _He had expected at the very least her careful suspicion and prudent distance. He hadn't been expecting her trust, companionship and her confidence. Because instead of sending him directly on his way with vague, half veiled promises about the new government of tomorrow and the plans of the future, she led him back down into the most amazing place he had ever seen, a place she called the Shadow Gallery.

…_V's place.._

And if he hadn't been so utterly and completely knackered, he knew he would have been itching to explore, and all but chomping at the bit to go over every bloody inch of the place. It was like a compulsion with him, that desire to uncover the truth, to search out and find the answers. _To make sense of it all.._

It was what he did after all. And perhaps ironically, it now seemed as though that was the only thing he had left, that compulsion to seek out the truth, regardless of the course or consequences.

'_At least he remained consistent..' _He mused with a despairing snort.

Unlike what he had expected she neither ushered him out and on his way, nor demanded he leave. Instead he followed sedately, if not rather unsteadily in her wake, shadowing her into the small kitchenette before all but collapsing into one of the chairs. Feeling remarkably as thought the full scope of everything that had happened that night had suddenly descended upon him all at once.

It was in that moment, as he watched her flit and flutter around the kitchen, flicking on the stove to heat water for tea, weaving in and out the adjoining pantry for jams and jellies like a delicate, stubbly headed enigma, practically bursting at the seams with nervous energy, that he suddenly felt _old_.

He rubbed a tired hand over his aching eyes, smelling the acrid tang of nitrogen and sulphur as his jacket cuffs brushed gently across the first prickly hints of his evening stubble. _The scent of the revolution, it was all over him.. All over them both._

It felt as though a crucial part of him was dying, and his body was yet uncertain if it could cope with the loss. It was akin to what he imagined it felt like when a patient suffers the emergency amputation of a diseased limb. He felt caught in a strange sort of semi-conscious limbo as his mind and body warred against the other. As if the outcome of the struggle would determine if the shock of the loss was too much too handle. Could he adapt? Could he survive? Could he learn to live again?

It was only once she had shoved a bitingly strong cup of tea into his idle hands, and strategically placed a heaping plate of toast and warm biscuits, all slathered to excess with what smelled suspiciously similar to _real _butter all too temptingly under his nose, that she began to talk. It started with only a few words, but almost as soon as it had begun it all came out in a rush, the words tumbling from her pert, pink lips as unsteadily, and as unpredictably as rain falls amidst a thunder storm.

She told him things, terrible things. Things that he couldn't forget, _shouldn't_ forget, things that he almost wished he hadn't known in the first place. She told him things that made sense, but mostly about things that didn't. She told him about judgement and justice, about torture and truth, lies and redemption. She told him about all of the November the 5th's that had passed them by. She told him about the power of words, and of the honest ferocity of an idea. She told him about V, her brother, her parents, and about Gordon Deitrich. But mostly, she told him about herself. About what had happened, about what _was_ happening, and about what _might_ happen.

And as the heat from the cup seemed to sear his fingers from the outside in, warming him in such a way he hadn't properly felt in over three decades, he _listened_.

_He listened, and his tea went cold._

And when the words finally ran dry, as words are oft to do, leaving the speaker bereft of the means to adequately express such things that enviably weigh far too heavy on ones heart, it took him almost a full minute to realize that it _wasn't_ his vision playing tricks on him, but that the girl herself was shuddering. It was her small, far too delicately thin frame that was shaking in place, her fingers grasping at the cushions as though through sheer strength alone she could stave off the enormity of her own emotions even as the tears began free falling, plinking deafeningly on the stone floor at their feet.

_Almost as soon as they had begun, he lost count at a mere dozen, he realized that he couldn't listen anymore.. He couldn't __**just**__ listen anymore.._

And suddenly, in spite of himself he was there beside her, pulling her into him like he just.._knew._ He hadn't thought the action through; indeed he doubted he even realized what his mind had meant to do it until he suddenly found himself up from his chair and crossing over to her.

_And vaguely, he tried not to think about the last time he had done this… So long ago..._

He took her into his arms admist the backdrop of both the past and present, in a house that had born the enigmatic presence of the most infamous, and possibility the _greatest_ man of their lifetimes. And yet, despite being surrounded by such strength, such constitution and fortitude, it was all he could do but let the kitchen table bear their collective weight as his own strength left him.

But more surprising still, she accepted him, turning into his embrace with a single jarring movement as she buried her face into the protection of his chest, her fingers weaving tightly into the sleeves of his overcoat and pressing into him until only the very back of her shorn head was visible. Until he wasn't exactly sure where he left off and she began.

It was only when a single dark splotch blossomed across the blue fabric that arrowed down along the nape of her neck that he realized that he too was crying. It was only a single tear. It was small and almost insignificant enough that he could have put it off to having something caught in his eye, or chalk it up to the damp nature of the building. But he knew it was none of those things..and in that way it was absolutely damning.

Because he hadn't shed that tear for the same reasons as she, her tears were meant for injustices and hurts that were far more innocent then his own. As all things considered, Evey Hammond had never really been given a choice, not since St. Mary's. She had never been allowed that pivotal moment in which to chose her direction, not until V. _Not until today._ Whereas he was damned by over thirty years of bad choices, haunted by the countless moments throughout the decades where he _could have_, _should_ have, but _didn't_.

_And he had to live with that._

He cried for what he had become, for what hehad _let _the years mould him into.He cried for the sins and indiscretions he had been forced to commit throughout the years in order to maintain the façade. He cried for that he had done, but mostly for what he _hadn't_. For all the times he had turned his back, remained idle, and chose to remain deaf rather then listen the sound of suffering and injustice.

_He had knowingly failed. Failed the people, those he had sworn to protect from violence and ruin. And in that way he had also failed himself and the image of what he had always striven to be._

He cried for what he had had to do to survive, for what he had had to sacrifice in order to keep a semblance of what _had _been. He had tried to maintain a balance between toeing the party line and keeping to his own morals. Between what he knew was right, just, and true. But so much had been blurred, and far too many lines had been crossed in the process. He wept for what could have been, for what his life _could_ have been. For what he had lost and turned away from in order to retain both his position and his life..

He had resigned himself many decades ago to the fact that survival was never pretty. And in that way he had very few delusion of himself. As despite his heart, despite what he believed and felt, he knew he was not really a good man. Because when it came down to it, as much as it haunted him, he had always done what he had had to in order to survive.

Perhaps a better man would not have made such a hellish compromise. Perhaps a better man would have rather died then turn false on both his convictions and the summation of his self. But _he_ wasn't _that_ man.

_He had never been that man.._

It was for that reason, and that reason alone that he forced himself to let no more then that single tear fall. He had little right to cry…

Like many, he had sacrificed much of himself in order to keep a depressingly small semblance of what had existed before. Gordon Deitrich had certainly not been the exception in this regard. But now, _especially now_, he had to wonder if those sacrifices had been truly worthwhile? He had denied who he was, what he believed, and held true to for so long that he half wondered if he hadn't all but lost those parts of himself completely.

_And that thought in itself somehow seemed more terrifying then anything Creedy and his squad of Finger Men could __**ever**__ threaten him with.._

He let a long, shuddering sigh breathe out into the open air between them. Hating himself fiercely for not being strong enough to pull away from the comfort she so willingly offered. A comfort he knew he didn't deserve.

And as though she sensed the turbulent nature of his thoughts, with a small, cut off mewl she pulled him in impossibly closer, her delicate little fingers pressing into the naked skin of his wrists as she abandoned the fabric of his jacket cuffs entirely in favour of grasping his large palms in her own.

That was when it hit him, when it _truly_ hit him for the first time. V had not just given them back hope. He had given them back the _chance_ to regain a part of _themselves_. To regain the humanity they had all invariably lost the day they had crumbled under the force of their own fears, and allowed injustice and atrocity to reign uncontested in the place of peace and morality.

_Humanity_, as he had come to learn, was a loaded term. Not in the sense of it being a term that describes who we are as a people, but as a definition of morality. In the English dictionary, the term 'humanity' is officially defined as 'the quality or condition of being human; human nature, or in other words, the quality of being humane; kindness; and benevolent.'

But the whole lot was a bloody load of tosh and everyone knew it. You couldn't sum up the nature of humanity, whether it was in the sense of the whole or the individual, as the very nature of humanity was ever changing and subjective.

…_Far too subjective._

Until V he had almost given up on the power and potential of humanity. After all it was much less heart rendering to believe that such potential had been, to a large extent, trampled under the vengeful heel of Norsefire rather then to believe that the people, himself included, had knowingly let it wither and die within them in exchange for brutal governmental efficiency, and the relative safety and complacently such structures provided them, as the world beyond their borders self destructed, and the people went rabid.

As V had said..a full year ago, in the beginning it had seemed impossible to lay any of the blame. After all, in those early years there had so much fear and so much to lose. People had said that there hadn't been any other choice. It was do or die, victory or defeat. _Or so the government had led them to believe._

Everyone had had their doubts about Sulter and Norsefire far before the election. One would have been a fool not to. The man was too efficient, too successful, too smooth, too lucky, and far too connected. But then came St. Mary's, the Underground and Three Waters..

It had been dominos from there on, with seemingly the entire world imploding in on itself until millions upon millions were lost in the dust, left to wither and die in famine, war, and disease as the globe was swept asunder in the likes of something no one could have ever imagined. It had been all England could do but stay afloat admist the rising swell.

_Lies. Treachery. Deceit. Fabrication…They all knew this __**now**__._ _Far too late of course…but at least they finally knew.._

It hadn't been long before the might of America was brought cringing, and prostrate to its knees, with the America's soon becoming a common euphemism for the words 'foolish' and 'inane.' And as the St, Mary's virus spread, the mere whisper of 'Ireland' and 'Scotland' was enough to instil pity, and hushed voices in any conversation.

_Terrible what St. Mary's did to Ireland…Worse what she did to Scotland.._

And as the virus mutated, leap frogging across the globe, for the first time in known history, people from the US were prosecuted as _they_ tried to escape across the borders into Mexico and Canada, even despite the fact that both nations were eventually made victims in their own right due to their geographical proximity to the States as well.

While on the other side of the globe, China fell back on their century old standby of complete and utter isolation from the rest of the world, mining both the land and sea borders their territory and effectively sealing themselves off from the trials and tribulations of the conscious world. And worse still, many other countries followed suit, with Russia, Japan, and Australia being quick immolate their Chinese brethren, turning their backs on their neighbours as nation after nation shattered and burned around them.

Norsefire had helped the country cope by instilling the mantras and mottos that would come to form the baseline of the party's chokehold on the nation. "_Strength through Unity._ _Unity through faith.."_ And worse, people began to believe it.

'_We are doing this for our children'_ become the voters unspoken slogan. _For survival_. And for a while, it seemed as though England had indeed prevailed… _But slowly, the reality of what they had done, what they had __**all**__ done, eventually settled in…_

No one had really noticed it at first, especially not in the face of the sudden landslide of victories that followed Norsefire's rise to power. The headlines had been blaringly victorious, a cure was discovered! Then, only months later for the first time in a decade the economy began to prosper again, unemployment rates were the lowest in nearly fifty years, living costs lessening almost daily… Indeed for a while it appeared as if they had danced with the devil and come out triumphant.

_And yet, was only months before the murmurs started.._

They started off as whispers; half understood fragments about neighbours that disappeared with food still cooking in their ovens, their children's homework still open on the kitchen table as the television flickered softly in the backdrop, the remote left where it had fallen, awkward and half hazard across the ruffled carpet. There were whispers about how minority groups that were suddenly 'relocated' for their own 'protection' to 'safe houses' set up all across the country despite the fact that since Three Waters and St. Mary's acts of terrorism in the nation had been all but non existent.

And almost as soon as those questions were voiced, as if by the hand of god himself, the economy fell again, and soon the populace was facing wage cuts, job reductions, and food stamps while the corrupt and powerful were kept fat, healthy, and housed in unimaginable luxury.

The people soon came to realize that the government they had freely elected had become far more powerful then themselves. Many had resented it, recognizing the farce for what it truly was. They had risen up and dared to protest against the injustices that were being committed in front of their very eyes. But all that came from such resistance was labour camps, food and fuel shortages, black bags, missing faces, and death.

And eventually._.impossibly_..the people stopped demonstrating. _Their fear growing too great _until they stopped protesting entirely, bowing their heads instead to the insurmountable pressure Norsefire wielded. The people soon learned it was less dangerous…_easier_ to simply incline their heads and believe the unsurmountable lies of safety, protection, and security that the party spewed out at them at every turn.

_Inexorably, the people of Britain lost their will to fight.._

And in the place of democracy they were given a dictator, in the place of free speech they gained censorship, black hoods, and Finger men. And in the place of freedom they were given blacklists, curfews, surveillance, and quarantine zones as the true nature of Norsefire was finally revealed.

_But it was a realization gleaned far too late. _

V had been right, all too right the first time he had addressed the nation, literally all but exploding into their lives on that fateful November day. Because in electing Norsefire, the people of Britain had sacrificed one of the most integral, and precious parts of themselves in exchange for the false promises of order..of peace. _That of their humanity._

And what was worse was that they knew it. V knew it, and they knew it. He knew they were haunted by the choices they had made, that they loathed not only those decisions but themselves as well. _That_ was why V's rallying cry was so persuasive, because at least on some level, everyone _already_ knew the truths that he so blithely offered. But more importantly, the heart of what V offered was not just a second chance or a fresh start, but the chance to fight for the redemption, the forgiveness that they all so vehemently sought.

He nearly trembled with the force of the realization, the emotion…_Hope._ Jesus _bloody_ Christ…He had almost forgotten..

Unbidden his hand moved from it's tentative hold on the small of her back to graze across the rough stubble of her shorn head, cupping her tightly into him for the first time since he had taken her into his embrace, overwhelmed by the ferocity of hope..and the possibility of redemption.

_He felt…Christ…He didn't even know how he felt…He felt…_It was too much.. He couldn't. He _just_ couldn't.

He closed his eyes against it, staving off the feelings as he breathed, drawing in each deep, cleansing breath like a drowning man might gasp for oxygen, holding tight to the woman in his arms like she was a life line.

He came back to himself sometime later, his face still greedily mashed into the crook of her neck, soaking up the comfort he knew he didn't deserve even as she freely took the same comfort that he offered. He felt strangely hyper aware of the fact that her tears were soaking straight through the lapels of his overcoat as they continued to fall, filling the close air around them with the salty tang of her grief as she continued to shudder in his embrace.

_It felt a lot like atonement._

But despite it all, despite the fact that all he could sense..all that surrounded him was fully, and uniquely _her_, for some daft, unknowable reason, he found that all he could think about was that strangely shy, half smile Dominic sometimes favoured him with when he thought he wasn't paying attention..

**A/N:** Please let me know what you think? Reviews and constructive critiquing are love!


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I don't own V for Vendetta or any of its characters. Wishful thinking aside. See original chapter for a complete set of warnings.

**Warnings:** This is a story that connects to the movie-verse version of V for Vendetta. It is meant to carry on post movie ending. All that I am aware of canon-wise is the events of the movie, thus this fiction revolves around my own interpretations of the movie (not the graphic novel). It is a Finch-centeric fic, with Finch/Dominic slash. So, in others words, there shall be in some shape or form, man on man happy time. Not your cup of tea? I suggest you pass it by. Still with me? Fabulous!

**Authors Note #1:** Please read and review. I am open to comments, advice, and constructive criticism. This is my first V for Vendetta story so I am especially looking for constructive feedback.

**Words will Always Retain their Power**

_Chapter 2 – _**"**_**A fronte praecipitium a tergo lupi"**_

It felt like hours before her tears finally slowed. Ebbing to a reluctant halt perhaps hours later, leaving thin, translucent tracks etched deeply into her dimpled cheeks. The only visible testament to the depth of her grief..of_ their_ grief.

He raised his chin from where it had been resting atop her stubbly head, breathing out a long, almost reluctant sigh as she finally stirred, somehow managing to look up at him without breaking their tenuous embrace, twisting around in his grip until she was able to meet his eyes. She looked ancient, and yet at the same time she looked incredibly young. _Far too young to have suffered the trials and tribulations that fate had seen fit to curse her with._

She looked…tired..perhaps even _broken_. There was strength there, steeling the core of her being from the outside in. And yet, tonight, with the death of V that strength had been made fragile. _As if the man had held some deeper, more intrinsic meaning to her then simply being her comrade in arms._ And in spite of himself, the mere sight of her small, grief crumpled form threatened to unman him completely. Bringing to life a few long forgotten fragments of himself he had forcibly shed far too many years ago.

Once, a near _lifetime_ ago, he had often entertained the idea of having a child of his own, something he could mould and nurture. _Something to love. _But those vague, half formed dreams had died with the rise of Norsefire, subsiding into vacant, charred little embers the day that morality, goodness, and tolerance died in their country...

Sutler certainly hadn't wasted any time, as not long after the party rose to power, and he had been forced to bear witness to the worst qualities humanity had to offer. The worst _acts_ humanity could inflict on one another. He had been forced to watch as suffering, hatred, fear, and intolerance became personified in the flesh, becoming real with the creation of strange new laws and the unlawful indictment of the innocent.

_And like a runaway train careening wildly down its tracks, things had only gotten worse from there._

But the day that reality finally hit home, the day he realized that those dreams of settling down, and finding someone of his own were truly dead, was the day he had been forced to watch as someone else's _dream_, someone else's _life_ was torn asunder. He had been forced to _watch_ as one of the first families with such a union was ripped brutally apart for no other reason then that the children, a young boy and teenage girl had _two_ mothers rather then _one_.

_He hadn't wanted to believe it then. How could he? This was not that government he had voted for! These were not the goals in which he aspired towards or the mantras he had sworn to uphold. _

_And for a while he had even told himself that it couldn't possibly be real…That there had to be something else going on…Denial had been the only way to get through it.._

He had been investigating a suspicious death at the end of the block, and had rounded the corner at a dead run, alerted by the high pitched sounds of adolescent screams, and the sickening cracks of swinging truncheons as they echoed mercilessly against venerable, naked flesh.

_Creedy's Fingermen had had to hold him back, forgetting himself entirely as the horrors happening right in front of his eyes didn't even slow at his angry, confused shouts. _

Even then he hadn't really understood.._Not yet_. And for a time, he almost even believed the lies that Creedy had spouted, calling the women 'terrorists' and 'dangers to the public.' It was only later that he learned that the only thing those poor women had done to deserve such accusations was because they had dared to love.

_Was that so worthy of punishment? Of revulsion and arrest? _

They had refused to compromise who they were simply for the sake of highhanded bigotry and senseless intolerance, and instead had cared for each other freely. _Something that was more then he could say for himself. He had never been that brave._ They understood the truth of the matter. No one could put a limitation or a monopoly on love. To do so would negate the very core of what love was. And yet, in living out that truth, by the nature of their unconventional relationship, they were singled out and persecuted. _For loving._

_And people wondered why Justice had abandoned this country…_

The mothers had been black bagged screaming and fighting before his very eyes, their fingers tangling together desperately as they cried out the names of their children even as the doors of the collection van slammed on their heart wrenching cries. The echoes thrumming out across the street like a death knell.

And as the children were hustled quickly towards another vehicle, not one of the bystanders milling curiously behind the police barricades seemed to be able to meet their young, accusing eyes. Turning away as the children screamed, tears rolling fast and unrestrained down their cheeks, held fast in the unforgiving grip of the same men that had taken their mothers from them.

And he knew, even as the arms holding him back grew firm and far more vicious around his shoulders, that it would be a very long time before he would be free of the sight of that little boy, his lips parted in a desperate little whimper as a single, chubby little arm reached out towards the retreating van already trundling down the street behind them. _Calling out for his mothers._

_Later he would come to view the memory as a sort of penance. Penance for all the things he __**hadn't **__done.._

Despite his subtle inquiries, the whole family disappeared into Creedy's clutches, effectively wiped off the face earth. It was close to four months later, long after public interest had died down that the children unofficially resurfaced. They had been relocated to a re-education facility in the north, and were officially listed as wards of the state according to the registrar's office. But of the mothers, he could find no sign. Not of their lives, nor even of their deaths.. In fact, despite his digging, he could find no sign they had ever existed at all.

_And he could find no explanation for it other then the fact that the government had __**made**__ them disappear._

In time he learned that the boy had adapted. He had been happily adopted by a well to do couple in Leeds where he was doted upon quite robustly if the local gossip was to be believed. Unfortunately, his older sibling did not fair as well. As unlike her brother she had refused to conform to the ideals that made up the party line. And after being bounced from one juvenile reclamation program to another, her fiercely defended opinions had eventually been heard by the wrong people and she suffered the same fate as her beloved mothers, swallowed in the depths a cheap black hood. Her existence wiped clean from the records as if she had never existed at all.

_That was when he knew… The moment when he realized that all the whispers, all the impossible murmurs swirling about the toxic backwash that with time, eventually began to swell in the Parties wake, were true._

He was rescued from the depths of his thoughts however when she shifted in his grip, bringing his attention lancing back to the present. And despite her curious look, he said nothing of his thoughts, only patting her awkwardly on the back, hoping it would give her some comfort as they faced the growing silence. She smiled in response; it was just the slightest tug at the corner of her lips, but a smile nonetheless.

They sat in silence for some time, each caught up in the enormity of their own thoughts. Though, if he wanted to start getting in the habit of being honest with himself, he wasn't even sure** what** he _should_ be feeling. He felt drained, he felt exhilarated, fragile, bewildered, and _hell,_ even afraid. He felt like he might finally be able to sleep through the night again, and yet he feared the concept entirely, worried that when he woke up, the world might have changed too much for him to cope with.

It was only when she shifted again; her hands running unconsciously down the length of his thick sleeves, straightening the ruffled material with her small, nimble fingers that he realized that the hip he had jammed into the table to support their weight had begun to twinge warningly. His body's rather passive aggressive way of promising he would pay for such neglectful abuse sooner rather then later.

_Apparently he was no longer as flexible as he used to be._

Bowing to the inevitable he slowly straightened, supporting her courteously as their weight settled squarely on the floor once more. And for a long, strained moment, the only sound made between them was the soft slide of fabric on fabric as they righted their clothing, using the moment to collect their thoughts and regain their wits.

Readjusting the hang of his coat, he took a small, but measured step backwards, deliberately placing a modicum of space between them. Vainly trying to separate himself from the emotions teeming just under his skin, itching to be let out. _Bollocks._ _He just wasn't used to this.._

It was time, that awkward moment where he knew he should seize the initiative and take his leave, only the words never seemed make it past his lips. _And worse, he didn't have the foggiest idea why. _He swallowed thickly as he cleared his throat, noticing despite himself she seemed perfectly content to let him struggle as she took advantage of the moment, smoothing her skirts and wiping her face delicately as if to rid herself of the vestiges of any errant tears.

_He never had really understood women.._

It was only then, just was he was readying himself to speak that she caught his gaze and held it. Confusion, discomfort, and an odd sense of stubborn pride washed over him as he forced himself to meet her piercing gaze. He would not look away. _Not from her_. And offhandedly he wondered what she saw there. What thoughts and emotions reflected in the depths of his gaze? What could be gleaned from the frames of his face that she found so worthy of study? He probably didn't even _want_ to know.

But it appeared that after a long, measured moment she seemed to come to some sort of decision, because with a small nod she favoured him with a thin, if not rather brittle looking smile.

"A moment if you please Inspector?" She asked, her voice warbling in pitch minutely as she spoke, as if rusty with disuse.

"O'course.." He replied, inclining his head as he watched her turn and stride quickly from the room, innerly marvelling as his ears detected the barest hint of his long repressed Irish accent creeping into his speech, the sounds lending a subtle lilt to his syllables. A testament to just how exhausted he really was.

_When was the last time he had slept through the night? A week? A month? A year? He couldn't even remember.._

She returned only moments later, her face a heavy mask of hard edged determination as she marched back into the room, a small ancient looking scroll of paper clutched carefully in her small fist. Mystified but curious he looked from the paper to her face, indicating wordlessly for her to explain. But his confusion only grew when she shook her head and broached the remaining space between them by extending it towards him.

He hesitated perceptively,_ wearily_. Feeling remarkably as if in somehow taking this nondescript piece of paper he would be embarking upon a course he could neither retreat, nor turn away from. He knew that the thought itself made little sense, and yet, he simply could not shake the significance of the feeling.

_Over the years he had learned to trust his gut. Only this time, even his gut didn't know what to make of it…_

The paper seemed almost reluctant as it slipped from her fingers and into his palm. And minutely he was surprised when he identified the texture, his fingers curling around the delicate whirl of paper with an assessing grip. It was not thin parchment that he had initially assumed; instead, it felt more reminiscent of the rough, prison-style toilet paper they provided the inmates in high security detention centers.

_..Intriguing..The paper felt…used. As if it were well read but carefully kept. _

Professional curiosity and barely checked tension simmered between his shoulder blades like an itch he couldn't scratch even as he forced himself to lend his attention back to the woman in front of him.

"There are some things Inspector that cannot simply be retold or described. There are some things in this world that _must _be experienced .._lived_ in order to be truly understood. This was a lesson V passed on to me, a lesson that he received much in the same way as I did…" She began, breaking off as she swallowed hard, her eyes growing haunted for a few long moments before she seemed to pull herself together and press on.

"Mr. Finch, V trusted you. And believe me; he gave that trust to very few. And if he trusted you, then regardless of what those reasons were, I find myself in the position to do the same. After all, I can hardly set about creating a new government alone now can I?" She finished firmly, the words painfully casual as they dropped from her lips with all the equivocating force of a dozen atomic bombs.

_Christ on a bloody crutch…_

But just as he was about to murmur in deference or mutter a non-sequitur at both the unexpected compliment and his shock at the seemingly predestined fate of his near future, she neatly intercepted his train of thought, effectively cutting him off as she blew out a long, frustrated breath before she spoke again.

"Besides, this is a story that needs to be shared. It** has** to be heard. As if it isn't, well, then we will be no better off then we were with Chauncelor Sutler." She insisted, her chin up and defiant despite the suspiciously watery sheen that had overtaken her strikingly brown eyes as he fastened his gaze on her once more.

_And really, after everything that had been said and done, what else could he say in response, other then to promise to do exactly that?_

Not long after, she led the way as they journeyed back through the gallery, her feet striding through the maze-like jumble of adjoining corridors and drafty hallways with a confident, long accustomed ease that he couldn't help but envy.

_Had she spent the entirety of the past year living admist these remarkable walls? Surrounded by all these wonders and mysteries? But perhaps more importantly, what nuances had she gleaned from the enigmatic man during that time? Did she truly care for him as much as he was beginning to suspect? Had the events of the past night cost her more then simply a compatriot and a friend, but a lover as well?_

The questions he burned to ask were virtually endless, yet he let not a single one breach the barrier of his tightly closed lips. This was certainly not the time for inane questions. _Thirst for the truth aside, there was a time and a place for such conversations, and this was certainly not it.._

Unbidden, the thought caused his lips to quirk upwards in a small smile as he recalled something Dominic had once said. And he couldn't help but chuckle internally at the memory. As while the situation back then had certainly been dire, Dominic always did have a flair for the bitingly melodramatic, especially when he was under stress.

They had been working a case up in the moors of Llandudno, Conwy, a lovely little coastal town in North Wales. Historically it had been known for its Victorian and Edwardian splendour, but now, its latest claim to fame was that it was largely boasted as the prime vacationing area for prominent party members. Indeed, if the rumours were true, it was said that even Creedy himself had a summer home just off the grounds of Conway Castle.

It was a particularly hard case from the get-go with the death of a leading party member and his entire extended family, including his four daughters, infant son, and doting wife. _A variable blood bath to be sure. _And predictably, given the sort of high powered clientele Llandudno seemed to attract nowadays, the case ended up being far more then it appeared.

Indeed, even from the brief missives they had received in the car on the way there, the information they gleaned sent his hackles rising. _Something wasn't right about the case. He could feel it. The evidence just didn't add up._ And judging by the guarded looks Dominic had sent him from the driver's seat, his long, tapered fingers drumming distractedly along the steering wheel as he drove, the younger man had sensed it as well.

When they had arrived on the scene, Creedy and his variable circus of Fingermen had not only beaten them to it, but together with the local law enforcement had already come up with a working theory and arrested a suspect.

Creedy and his men had determined that in a failed robbery attempt a young Serbian national, of whom was coincidentally _not_ on any immigration registrar in the _entire_ United Kingdom, had broken through the _highly advanced_ security protocols that protected the immense, baroque style home. And then systematically set about _overpowering_ the family's _four_ bodyguards and incapacitating the entire serving staff, the equivalent of five fully grown able bodied men and women before herding the family into the drawing room for the act itself.

Creedy proposed that it was there that the man had murdered the entire lot in cold blood, sparing none, not even the youngest child, a youth of only three years, choosing to entirely ignore the fact that the young Serb in custody had apparently also _miraculously_ managed to come out of the encounter free of both blood spatter, and the evidence of GSR residue _anywhere_ on his person.

_It was a load of utter and complete horseshit and everyone knew it._

All you had to do was look up at the ceiling and see the obvious directional spatter of the blood cast off. Something that one of Creedy's men, likely in a fit of Neanderthal style wisdom had apparently figured was too indiscriminate by itself to merit cleaning up with the rest of the more conclusive evidence before they had arrived.

_What he would have given to have been a fly on the wall of __**that**__ particular conversation. He had always moribily wondered if Creedy actually black bagged his own. It certainly would have been poetic justice at it's finest at any rate…_

You didn't have to be a Chief Inspector to come to the conclusion that this was a blatant, textbook worthy example of a murder-suicide. He could even guess how it had played out. Cue to a high powered, wealthy party family, coupled together with weak minds and guilty consciences. It wasn't exactly rocket science.

Yet despite this, the evidence mounting against their Serbian 'suspect' had only grown, and the blood spattered ceiling, including all the written and photographic evidence Dominic and himself had recorded at the scene, was _mysteriously_ erased from the department servers not twenty four hours later.

_It had the stench of Creedy's foul paws all over it. It was a god damned cover up! And once again, some poor, immigrant bastard was going to pay for it!_

The government was already making it quite clear that **this** was the way they were going to spin the story. Readying the slain family for a nation wide entry into a martyrdom they didn't rightfully deserve, while a young man with olive skin and a brand new wedding band glinting on his ring finger was living his last days rotting in some god forsaken government funded cell, a black hood fastened firm around his neck as he waited, terrified, beaten, and alone in the darkness for an execution he didn't actually deserve.

_The injustice of it had burned, broiling deep and dangerous the pit of his belly as he worried his lower lip in between his teeth, mind whirling as he forced himself to embark upon on a course that was neither wise, nor particularly safe._

Because, despite the stakes, he just couldn't let it go. He couldn't look into the eyes of another terrified, innocent victim and know that they were dying for no reason what so ever. _He just couldn't. Not this time. Not again._

So, like the fool that he was, he had refused to budge, keeping the case open and unsolved despite the mounting impossibility of the evidence piling against them.. He was determined to exonerate the young suspect, gnawing at the case like a terrier with a cattle bone, staring at the files and the surveillance tapes until his eyes started to burn in their sockets in tired protest.

_Only this time both he and Dominic had gotten caught up in the middle.. _

Safeguards and common sense be damned, but he had dug himself in _deep_, too deep, and he knew it. _But once started, he couldn't stop._ Dominic knew better then to even try and dissuade him, and instead ignored his orders to return to London and parked his rear in the chair beside him. Joining him in the hunt as they went over every police report, every tape, every dead end, even every god damned gossip rag that had even so much as mentioned the prestigious family and their exploits in the last ten years.

_At the time he had half wondered, once he had pushed back the grudging pride he had felt at the man's decision, if the man wasn't inheriting some of his own bad habits.._

They had been back at the crime scene close to five days after the initial deaths, setting up a ladder to search for any evidence of the blood spatter that might have been missed during Creedy's overnight clean up operation, when it had happened.

It had been sudden, unexpected and entirely out of the blue when the shot rang out, the cracking echoes of the blast chasing each other deafeningly down through the empty halls, the sound ringing out hollow and vacant admist the eerie stillness. But it had been far worse when Dominic had fell, his body going limp and heavy, crumpling from his stance on the ladder as he hit the unforgiving marble with a brutal, fleshy sounding thud.

_Oh God.._

He had whirled towards the noise just in time to watch his partner fall, the momentum of the action made strange and almost sluggish as his brain struggled to comprehend the reality of what he was seeing.

.._No..Not Dominic.._

But stranger still was that mindless …almost _demented_ form of anger that overtook him not a moment later. It was an emotion he had never before experienced, and the cold, vicious ferocity of the feeling had entirely overwhelmed the last vestiges of his panic, horror, and confusion and made him see _red_.

Even then he had surprised himself with the unrestrained savagery in which he dealt with the three rather misfortunate assailants. He had always been quiet, fastidious and brooding, keeping his marginal temper on a tight leash at all times. In fact, he had always preferred to let the power of rational thought and judicial truth deal out judgement where it was deserved. Indeed, he had always put forth that the indomitable power of the truth was his preferred weapon of choice, favoured over any truncheon or firearm.

But with this…with Dominic lying on the floor in front of him, pale, and _god save him_, so damned _still_, he hadn't been able to rein himself in, brutally bringing all three of the bastards down before they could take aim at him as well.

The man was already struggling to breathe by the time he had finished with the last gunman. Dealing the stupid, over confident shit stain of a thug with a vicious blow to the head with the butt with his _Jericho 941_ before launching himself across the slick marble floor towards his fallen partner, sliding through blood splatter and spent cartridges thoughtlessly as he knelt at his side.

_Christ no... Not this. Not him._

"Dominic! For Christ sakes, let me see it!" He roared, pulling the man's hands away from the raw, mangled looking hole just below his right shoulder as he struggled to see the extent of the damage.

The impact of the shot had send blood splatter flecking out across the younger man's face, standing out like fine mist of crimson freckles across his paling face. And the starkness of the color had shocked him in its finality even as Dominic moved his head against the cuff of his long black overcoat, unknowingly smearing the color across his cheek as he moved.

_He had only swallowed hard. Cursing tersely as he flipped open his cell and called for an ambulance, trying in vain not to look…_

"It's a damn good thing you know when to quit." Dominic muttered sarcastically, hissing in pain as his fingers worked on automatic, jostling the man around as he searched for an exit wound.

…_A through and through.. Thank god._

"_We_." He shot back pointedly, determinedly keeping the man talking as his mind reeled back through the past five days, with the both of them practically living off cheap curry and Chinese food, kipping on a few uneven cots in the same dodgy little room at the only motel in all of Llandudno that the agency would spring for as they ripped through every possible shred of evidence.

He didn't have to look behind him to know that when he turned around, the three suspects he had taken down would have already disappeared, crawling back to whatever rock Creedy had found them under in the first place, no doubt to lick their wounds like the _mangy dogs _that they were.

"Wouldn't have it any other way Inspector." The man returned, grinning unrepentantly up at him, doing nothing to stop him as he ripped open the man's expensive looking dress shirt, the light blue fabric blossoming far too quickly with fresh splotches of crimson as he applied pressure.

_Shit._

"Shut up Dominic. You're bleeding all over your new suit." He managed roughly, pulling off his overcoat and pressing it firmly against the wound, trying his best to ignore the way the man's amused chuckle morphed into a harsh explicative and an unmistakeable grunt of pain.

His partner's eyelashes had fluttered alarmingly at that, and panic seized in his breast for the second time that night. And blame worry, blame fear and perhaps even adrenaline, but he hadn't been able to help himself when his fingers had curled protectively around the man's shoulders, moving him around until the man's back was all but resting across the solid plane of his thighs. Holding Dominic protectively against the bulk of him as he supported the mans weight, ignoring the growing dampness of his trousers as the mans wounds spilled over, his partner's blood seeping deeply into the course fabric of his work pants, hitting his naked skin with a bizarre burst of fleeting warmth.

He didn't even notice until he had stripped for a desperately needed shower some hours later. And the mere sight of those bloody smudges smeared across the skin of his thighs, dried into dark crimson rivulets that coursed past his knees was almost enough to turn his stomach_. It was Dominic's blood. Dominic's fucking blood…Christ._

"Don't you go anywhere on me Stone. You hear me Dominic?" He shouted, struggling to be heard admist the growing sounds of the emergency sirens shrieking in the distance, shaking the man carefully until his subordinate graced him with another pained, yet irritated glance.

_But he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Because at that point, he had taken what he could get._

"Wouldn't dream of it sir. Besides, if I go swanning off then where would you be? Having to break in a new partner and all that?" The man had said with an exaggerated wink, lips going pale around the edges as he clenched his teeth, refusing to voice the pained groan that was fighting to break free from his lips.

He had sought the mans hand out not long after that, saying nothing when the man squirmed in his grip, the press of the man's fingers against his own becoming almost painful as he refused to let up the pressure on the mans wound, even when the ruddy skin of his palms began dripping with the man's blood, streaked up to the wrists in crimson.

And he'd be damned if the man's bright blue eyes had refused to leave his face right up until the EMT's arrived, his eyes wide and glassy, whirling with a confused jumble of far too many emotions for him to ever hope to identify. All he knew was that not once did he look way, not even as the police and ambulance attendants burst through the front door, running full tilt towards them. _He had kept his eyes on Dominic._

_Peppy little shit._

In the end, it had only be a stupid little flesh wound, the bullet going straight through the meaty part of his shoulder, and somehow missing anything harmful as it exited messily through his back. But as he had knelt there, heart beating far too loudly in the empty marble corridor, one hand pressed tightly across the span of the man's chest, the other was still held fast in Dominic's cool, long fingered grip, it had felt remarkably like the end of the world.

_..A thought which in itself forced him to wonder just when he had let himself start caring so god damned much…_

He had taken the incident for what it was. _A final warning._ The meaning of which was all too abundantly clear. _Dig deeper and next time, they __**wouldn't**__ miss. _And it had worried him for a long time after how it appeared that they had known the exact leverage in which to use against him. Threatening not his own life, but Dominic's.

_After that, god help him, but he folded._ And hours later, after he had somehow found a moment admist the ever growing, chaotic confusion of the emergency ward to wash the blood from his skin, watching almost hypnotically as the diluted red of Dominic's blood whirled slowly down the drain, the very next thing he had done was adjust his report and submit it in for party approval. The reaction had been immediate, with the party applauding him for his concerted, whole hearted efforts in solving the case and wishing his partner the best of recoveries.

He had had to restrain himself from putting his fist clear through the computer terminal right there in the middle of the hospital lounge. _The_ _Bastards!_

And as soon as Dominic had wheedled his way out of the recovery ward and sweet talked the old bird at the human resources desk into coming back to work early, the man had been smart enough to keep even so much as a newspaper clipping well away from the office. Sorting through their mail like a bloody den mother before he even arrived in the mornings. Indeed Dominic had stayed uncommonly silent about the whole affair, letting him stew in relative peace while he spent the next four weeks brooding darkly in his corner of the office.

…_It had been hard to let that one go. And neither could he forget the nature of the message he had been so boldly and altogetherly brutally delivered…It made a bloke think._

At the time he had been too caught up in Dominic's recovery to wonder why they hadn't just done away with him for good, nipping any similar incidents in the bud right then and there. But they hadn't.

_And now..At the end of this whole twisted saga…With the fall of the government to the collective might of the people, the entire nations free for the first time in decades…He really had to wonder why.._

When they reached the exit, he found that he couldn't help but pause just inside the arch of the doorway, halting with one foot inside the Shadow Gallery and the other poised on the step below as he collected his thoughts, finally asking the question that had been weighing heavily on his mind since Tchaikovsky's 1812 Overture blared triumphantly across the Interlink that evening for the second time in just over a year.

"What happens now?" He asked, startled when the words came out sounding half mangled and strange to his exhausted ears. He knew it was his voice and yet, he hardly recognized it. It was hoarse, uncertain, and almost quivering with partially repressed excitement and debilitating exhaustion.

She stayed muted for a time, letting the silence breathe much in the same way one would with a particularly expensive bottle of French _Petrus Reserve_, her eyes finally meeting his as she made to speak. Only this time he almost recoiled when he realized that her face turned back into the same unreadable mask it had been during that tense moment in the subway. _Emotionless emotionality. Coincidentally it was an expression he was all too familiar with.._

"There will be no more lies, Mr Finch, only truth." She replied coldly, her eyes staring past him, turning shadowed and brutally hard, as if she were remembering something that angered her greatly.

And for a moment he didn't care a whit that she was just a mere slip of a girl with a slightly questionable character and no visible weapons on her person to speak of. All he knew was that he never, _ever_ wanted to experience the bad side of Miss Evey Hammond, because that look alone was bloody well hair raising.

She sent him on his way not long after that, her eyes trusting but strong as he allowed her to accompany him out the door, accepting his business card and thanks after he quickly scribbled his address on the back should she need him. And as she saw him out to the street, she left him with the veiled, uncertain promise that the world would not only continue turning, but that things would indeed get better.. Maybe not tomorrow, and maybe not even the next, but that it _would_.

…_It had to…_

**Glossary:** Chapter Title is Latin for: "_A precipice in front, wolves behind." (Basically another phrase for: "between a rock and a hard place.")_

**A/N:** Please let me know what you think, and indeed if I should continue? Reviews and constructive critiquing are love!


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** I don't own V for Vendetta or any of its characters. Wishful thinking aside. See original chapter for a complete set of warnings.

**Warnings:** This is a story that connects to the movie-verse version of V for Vendetta. It is meant to carry on post movie ending. All that I am aware of canon-wise is the events of the movie, thus this fiction revolves around my own interpretations of the movie (not the graphic novel). It is a Finch-centeric fic, with Finch/Dominic slash. So, in others words, there shall be in some shape or form, man on man happy time. Not your cup of tea? I suggest you pass it by. Still with me? Fabulous!

**Authors Note #1:** This chapter is a bit of transition chapter. I realized while writing that I was cutting far too much out of the story and taking away from the development of Finch's thoughts if I simply jumped right into the good stuff. So hopefully you will bear with me!

**A/N #2:** Thank you to my anonymous reviewers! I like to respond to all of my reviews if I can, but since you are, well, _anonymous _I can't! So thank you very much! Glad you are enjoying the story thus far! I hope to hear what you think of this chapter as well!

**Words will always Retain their Power **

**Chapter 3** – **"****Ad vitam paramus"**

As he ambled slowly down the litter strewn streets, forcing his tired, reluctant feet on a course that gradually took him away from the steps of the Shadow Gallery; he couldn't help but revel in the mounting heat of the coming dawn. The light was already tingeing the sky an appropriate, orange streaked crimson. It was the dawn of a new day. _At long last._

_Indeed it had be to be said, that even at it's most elemental level, the nature of anarchy had an undeniably dramatic flair to it.._

He was so caught up in the muddled depths of his own thoughts that the deep, bass sound of the old, long rusted doors thudding closed behind him barely even registered. His mind was still teeming with her final words, dwelling on those niggling, mysterious hints about the government of tomorrow. _About the _future..

.._Cor!..The future_..

The concept alone seemed unknowably daunting and practically horrifying in its obscurity. Freedom it itself was a fascinating notion, and after all this time now that it was all but staring him in the face, he found that he barely knew what to do with it. Perhaps it was merely a failure of imagination on his part; perhaps this new era was more suited to the young, towards people much like Miss Hammond. But regardless, he knew that he wasn't alone in his thoughts. Because the idea of freedom and the consideration such a term might wield upon ones vision of the future was a determination that was as unknown, strange, and uncertain as the definition of life itself.

But despite such thoughts, he knew that whatever Evey Hammond had in mind, it would be at the very least a change based on good intentions. Something he certainly couldn't say for the likes of Norsefire and Chancellor Sutler.

_At any rate, he figured that good intentions were as good a start as any. _

He briefly entertained the notion of calling for a cab, but that idea was quickly negated as he reached the main street, wearily eying the trickling, but steadily growing streams of revellers as they strolled past. Virtually the entire city had come out to support V, and now despite the early dawn hours, it seemed as though the vast majority of them were still out and about. Celebrating and enjoying their new found freedom.

_There were no longer any curfews or Finger Men to fear, and on sheer principal of the thing, the people were making their jubilation known._

There would be no taxi to be had _this_ morning, likely no buses nor trolleys either. Everyone who was out and about was doing it on foot or by bicycle. There wasn't even any noticeable vehicle traffic on the roads or causeways at all. _It was almost exciting in its strangeness. It was new, unique, different, and utterly refreshing in its own way.._

Indeed it seemed as though London was ripe for a self made holiday. The people seemed to be taking it as their due, having every right to do so of course. After all, how long had it been since the people had last felt safe to leave the protection of their homes when night fell? How long had it been since the streets of London had echoed with laughter? How long had it been since any of them had really, _truly_ lived?

_Too long. Far too long._

As in truth, everyone had known that this day was a long time coming. He had meant what he had said in the scant days before the fifth, sequestered in the office with Dominic, following up on every near hint and dead end that had hit their desk since the start of this whole mess. Because the thing was that V _had_ known them better then they had known themselves. V had known what they, as a people truly wanted. He had understood that while freedom and basic human rights was something they all inherently wanted and had right to, the _need_ for forgiveness, redemption, and for the chance to make things _right _was far more _needed_ in this country then anything else.

_By nature, in order to heal a country, you first had to go about healing its people._

Because that doubt had been in _him_, been in _all_ of _them_ long before V and the Old Bailey, all V had done was flush it out into the open, like a hunting dog does with a clutch of geese. And unlike so many times before, with the half hearted protesters and the quickly squashed resistance movements that were practically a dime and dozen back in the early years, V _didn't_ let them forget what was at stake. He had given them all a year for the doubt to stew in their hearts, a whole bloody _year _to think about how _they_ and they alone could turn around and change _things. Change things for the better._

_And true to form, it had been too enticing of an opportunity to pass up._

He snorted softly at the mere thought. Indeed, one could even say that Norsefire's fate had been all but sealed the moment V's Fawkisan mask had flashed onto their television sets a year ago on this very day. Sutler just hadn't had the decency to admit it.

After a while, as his feet angled him homeward, and the comfortably monotony of the rough cobblestone sidewalks clicking sharply against the soles of his boots descended over him, he became glad for the chance to put his feet to the pavement. He needed time to think anyway, to mull over his own thoughts in the brisk English air. Evey Hammond had certainly given him far too much too think about.

And as he walked, he realized that his hand had gradually migrated to his overcoat's side pocket, his large palm curling firmly but delicately around that thin roll of paper as he worked is way through the crowds, his fingers unconsciously tightening around it every time someone accidentally brushed against him, jostled by the ever moving crowds.

The brittle little scroll felt uncommonly warm against his skin, almost as if it had a life and pulse of its very own. And unbidden, his mind roamed. _How many hands had this missive changed through? What secrets..what truths could it contain? And how, after everything that had happened in the past year, could there possibly be more to this seemingly unending story?_

Curiosity piked, he had to resist the temptation to bring it out and unfurl it right then and there on the street.

Once again, it was his unquenchable desire for the truth…_the drive to know_ that reared its determined, dog-eared head. It was the same _drive_..the same inclination that had seen him through the twists and turns, near misses, close encounters, confusion and moments of horrible, startling clarity that had made up the entirety of the past blasted year. But as much as it killed him, he tempered the desire down, forcing his fingers to still around the unassuming little scroll. _This was not the place._

He walked alone, deliberately slowing his step every once and a while so that he wouldn't fall into step with the excited, fluctuating crowds. Instead he skirted the edges, haunting the sidelines of the revelry as what appeared to be the entire population of London flowed through the city streets in jubilant celebration.

And despite a few well meant greetings and friendly pats on the shoulders, the cloak wearing crowds largely left him to his own devices. It was almost as if they understood his need for solitude and private thought. _Everyone celebrates in their own way, _he supposed.

And despite the enormity of his thoughts, he couldn't help but marvel on it. _On the nature of the crowd._ As unlike in the hours leading up to the fifth, there was no evidence of the widespread chaos that had gripped the city in the days and hours before. There was no looting, mischief or violence that he could discern. The people were still out in droves to be sure, and the noise level was loud and bubbling, but there was a sense of control now, a sense of order rather then chaos.

There was jubilation in the stead of righteous anger against the crimes of the regime. While excitement and celebration reined where hate and intolerance had held power only a mere trifling of hours before. But even then the celebration wasn't mindless, it was more…mature. It was hard to describe. But it was almost as though the entire populace knew exactly what had happened and what was now at stake. And perhaps more importantly, they knew what possibilities their new, uncertain future was ripe to hold and were stalwart and determined to see that course through to the end.

A queer sort of pride in his fellow citizens rose within him. Because in the place of unrest and disorder he saw couples holding hands and kissing passionately on the streets, an act long ago deemed by Sutler as a violation of public decency, and punishable with a hefty fine. He lost of count of how many he passed..and not all of them being of the more.._conventional_ coupling either.

He had to smile at that, refusing to even so much as avert his eyes from the sight of such passion. Instead he walked on, favouring the occasional couple with an indulgent, lingering look as he passed, mentally congratulating each of them on their rather unique, but undeniably sensual act of resistance.

_It was bloody well about time too.._

He saw large groups of people amassing for discussion and debate on street corners, and in front of closed shops and thoroughfares. Each and every one of them blatantly ignoring the laws put into place in during the parties second year of office that banned public groups larger then a score for the purpose for discussion, with Sutler obviously fearing that such gatherings would promote sedition and anti-government sentiments. _And he had been right of course.._ Only those who were found to be in violation of that particular bylaw were not simply slapped on the wrist with a fine or volunteer service. In fact more often then not, they were far more likely to see the inside of a black hood rather then breathe free air ever again.

He saw parents hoisting slumbering youngsters more firmly into their arms as they blatantly ignored the flashing red curfew lights that now blinked uselessly above the public auditory system, which was still rebelliously repeating Tchaikovsky's 1812 Overture on a continuous loop. The volume had somehow mysteriously diminished in the passing hours, but it was still evident enough to provide a triumphant sort of background noise to the festivities, especially in deference to the usual periodic curfew announcements.

He saw the occasional group of older men huddled in a few loose, companionable circles, passing around old wooden pipes and taking the periodic drag of a few knobbly, hand rolled cigarettes. Deliberately exhaling the smoke in long, exaggerated plumes, clearly thumbing their noses at the anti-tobacco laws that Norsefire had put into place a year after St. Mary's, just one of a hundred or so 'drug' restrictions that had been forcibly passed in the stunned aftermath of the tragedy.

And on that note, he was quite sure he had never heard so many songs floating from wireless stereos and demurely blasting from hundreds of different mobiles that appeared to have been taken straight off the Black Lists. Hearing as he continued onward, the occasional strains of anything from Bob Dylan, to Jim Morrison, John Lennon, Rufus Wainwright, Ani Difranco, a slew of American rappers he had never even heard of, and _god.._even _Irish_ music. It was all there, melding together in a fascinatingly confused jumble of cacophonous beats and varying melodies.

_The sights and sounds of freedom. It was practically overwhelming after so many years of repression and government control.._

He had to admit that despite his exhaustion, the mood of the people was infectious. He felt almost drunk on it, drunk and giddy on the mere _idea_ of freedom. _Freedom, like redemption, like forgiveness, was certainly a powerful thing._

It was close to three hours later by the time he finally turned up his drive. Breathing an audible sigh of relief as he automatically did a quick sweep up and down the road and detected neither the merest sight nor sound of any government issued vehicles or personnel lying in wait there. _Thank god for small mercies.._

He doubted he was fit to deal with the likes of anyone at the moment, least of all being Creedy and his blasted goon squad. _If Creedy was still even breathing that is.. Something which given the amount of gun fire he had heard echoing down the tunnels of the underground earlier, he sincerely doubted. Indeed, one could only hope that V had made the bastard suffer.._

He mounted the steps with growing exhaustion, feeling far too drained to even consider not leaning heavily on the hand rail. _Pride and stubbornness be damned! He was bloody well done for the day!_

There was a veritable list of things he _should_ be doing. But he knew that he would be doing none of them. _Not anymore_. He should have been thinking thoughts that revolved around collecting his car keys and heading back out the door. Or at the very least picking up his phone and contacting the remnants of the government, the party, or hell, even the bloody station. _But he wasn't._ Perhaps that was selfish of him; perhaps it even said something about his moral character or his dedication to his job. Either way, he couldn't find it in him at the moment to even scrape together the brain cells to care.

Patting his pockets distractedly he extracted his keys with a victorious air, fumbling tiredly with the ornery old lock. He found that he had to continually force his eyes to focus on the task regardless of the fact that his thoughts were already skipping ahead, lingering hopefully over the thought of the welcoming sting of a bitingly hot shower and the siren like allure of his own pillows. _God he was tired._

But before he closed the door, he took a moment to simply stand and mark the feeling. Wavering tiredly against the door jam as his eyes scanned the horizon, he seemed overly conscious of the moment, of the_ presence_ of the growing morning._ Because for the first time in a long time, it was far more then simply the start of a new day.._

He ran a weary hand through his mussed, dark brown hair, fingers tangling in the loose shaggy curls as he unconsciously tried to tame it. Vaguely, he wondered where Dominic had gotten too. In all the excitement and confusion of the past few hours he had almost forgotten that the man had dropped him off at the entrance to the underground.

Had he gone back to the office to look up any last minute leads? Or had he simply sat in the car, parked on some far flung street and watched the world change?

Perhaps he had even gone off to Parliament to aid in the security efforts, as all government employees had been ordered to do by nightfall? Though somehow he doubted that, Dominic knew as well as he the crimes of their government. Indeed, the man had already paid for that knowledge with a pound of his own flesh and blood. And while the younger man rarely spoke such thoughts allowed, prudently keeping his personal feelings relating to the regime largely unspoken, he knew the man well enough by now to know that the only way Dominic Stone would have been found outside the gates of Parliament _tonight_ would have been under the cover of a black cloak and a perpetually smirking Guy Fawke's mask.

_And blimey..wasn't that a thought?_

Briefly he entertained the notion of calling the man. But then again, what exactly would he say? It was total rubbish. So much had happened since he had last seen his partner, and yet he had no idea were to even _start._ Though, perhaps the real root of the problem lay in the fact that one of the first things he considered talking to the man about was decidedly _not_ work related..

_Bleeding hell. Maybe the lack of sleep__** had **__buggered up his brain after all._

Things had gone so utterly and completely pear shaped in the past year that he felt almost as though he had spent the last three hundred and sixty five days having to hold some long suppressed part of himself continually in check. And with each passing day the barriers he had constructed around himself weakened just a little bit more. _Until today. _Where in admist the rubble of parliament, an apt metaphor for the collapse of his own carefully kept wall and barriers, for the first time in over twenty-seven years he was left venerable in the face of everything he had striven to keep hidden. He felt almost naked, weak, and progressively more and more uncertain.

_No. No if he called Dominic now he was sure he'd say something he would regret. He would ruin what he had. What they had. If he was sure of anything right now, he was sure of that. And he was a right prat for even thinking otherwise._

Breathing deeply, he let the chill of the early morning air waft over him, contrasting strangely with the familiar, comforting smells of his home at his back as he faced the red tinted skies. The air was ripe with a melting pot of at least a dozen different smells from the houses the lined the street around him. It was enough to make his nose twitch as scents such as curry, chips, bangers and mash, and the tart tang of Chinese food assaulted his nasal passages all at once.

_He would make do. Just as he always had. He would accept the things he couldn't change…the things he couldn't have, just as he had always done. He would get up, go to work, do his job, and come back home. Alone. And eventually, that would almost be enough once again. He had had far too many years of practice after all.._

He had spent so many years with his feelings…_his desires_ for the man kept under lock and key. Buried so deep that most nights he had even been able to delude himself into coming home, and relaxing to the slow, deep beat of the jazz records he had purchased from New Orleans nearly three decades before, nursing a few liberal fingers of bourbon as he pretended to be content with what he had of the man…_Content in his self-imposed loneliness. _

The only problem was that as the years had past him by, leaving him bereft and barren of everything he had once secretly hoped to have, he found that despite his best efforts, some small, but growingly adamant part of him had begun to wonder if all the secrets, all the lies and repression was all really worth it_…_ _What was he working so hard to preserve? His life? Christ. Life under Norsefire's rule wasn't really 'living' and he knew it!_

Because like many, he had survived by hiding in plain sight, compromising and changing who he was for the sake of survival under the restrictive rule of Norsefire. Because he knew that on the off chance, even if he had dared to let himself have a few hours of carnal comfort with another like minded, willing soul, he knew that in all likelihood, he would become far more familiar with Creedy and the inside of one of those dodgy black bags then he knew he ever cared to be.

_Things like that never stayed a secret for long…No matter how well hid or safely guarded. The government had always found out.._

So he hadn't. He had let the offers and opportunities for relationships, comfort, happiness, and _yes_…even _love_ go by unheeded and unrealized. And as Norsefire had tightened its iron fist around the United Kingdom, his worst fears had slowly become realities. It had happened slowly, almost gradually. Particular bars and clubs began mysteriously closing, served up with eviction notices or bogus criminal charges against the owners seemingly over night. Until finally, as the months had flown swiftly past, the true aims of the party had been revealed, and old friends, long acquaintances, and champions for the people started turning up missing..

_He had seen it for what it was even then, a systematic extermination of difference. And it was pursued without any regard for morality or toleration, lending its victims neither quarter nor mercy. Standing unapologetic, and horrifyingly reminiscent of a war long since past..Of sentiments and acts of intolerance that he thought they had all but left behind. _

It hadn't been long after that that one day after work, in a fit of quiet, but almost heart rending fury, he had ripped off his jacket, loosened his tie, and methodically set about stripping his home of everything it was. He removed almost every nuance of the past, every memory, hell, even every _hint_ of his life, of _who he was_. Pictures, letters, mementoes, documents, clothes, it didn't matter, he had thrown it all into the fireplace, lips gnawed to the point of bleeding before he even let himself had collapse into the closest arm chair.

He had downed a bottle bad scotch directly from the decanter as he had watched it all burn, forcing himself to watch as everything he _was_, everything he _had been_, and everything he _could have_ been withered and unfurled into nothingness in his own god damned fireplace. Trying all the while to convince himself that _this_ was the way it _had_ to be. That they.._he_ had made his bed, and now he had to lie in it. Even then, it had been of little comfort.

_For one of the hardest things he had ever had to do, it had been almost criminally easy to commit.._

He sighed into the silence. Wondering for a quick, almost fatalistic moment as he mused on the nature of this new day, if anything in this world had actually changed for him after all… Had anything V had done in the final hours of the fifth directly affected him? Or worse, would he _let_ it if it had?

_Bleeding hell..He needed to sleep. He needed to stop thinking. He needed..he didn't even know __**what**__ he needed anymore.._

Breathing out in a long, concentrated rush he let the unforgiving chill of the metal door handle seep into his clammy flesh, eyes closing momentarily as he shook his head at his own foolishness. What was the point in pondering on such asinine thoughts other then to continually punish himself? He could no longer change _who _he was..or indeed _what _he was now then he could rearrange the stars in the night sky.

_..That was one of the curses that came with wearing a mask..you get to the point where you forget how to take it off.._

But in that moment, just as he was about to turn inside, abandoning the chill London air for the sake of his own comforts, he practically stumbled over the realization of something quite altogetherly breathtaking. For the first time since Norsefire had taken power, for the first time in over twenty-seven years, the_ truths_ he had been seeking and the _justice _he had never ceased to fight for had _finally_ prevailed.

_They had won.. And in a strange, somewhat bizarre way, he had won as well…_

Goose pimples pebbled along his skin in a chilled rush. His skin suddenly feeling over heated despite the crisp burst of cutting, early morning air. He shivered minutely, staring into the horizon as his thick fingers curled more firmly around the door handle, greedily leaning into its steady support.

_Christ..It really was over.._

He supposed that in a strange way the pursuit of truth had always been his vice of choice. For others it was dalliances in greed, drink, lust, pride, gluttony and avarice. But for him it had always been the drive to _know_. It was as addictive as any drug, as consuming as any obsession, and as unquenchable as any thirst. And in a large way he had become thoroughly dependent on it. He _needed it. _Sometimes he even swore that throughout the past twenty-seven years it had been the only thing that had kept him _sane_.

_Because like an addict seeking his next fix, he had always come back for more.._

It was something that had always set him apart from others. And over the years he had come to take solace in it. It was the one thing that had remained constant in his life, regardless of the time, place, or the government set in power to lord over it. The truth was _always_ there. It could be changed, edited, and even covered up, but in the end, if one dug deep enough the _truth_ could never be entirely erased.

The inherent goodness, morality, and judicial nature of the truth was one of the only doctrines he had ever held himself too. Ever since his boyhood he had been in awe of its seemingly limitless, universe nature. And despite the white lies and easy deceits he had known Norsefire for committing, and indeed the implicit dangers of having such awareness, he had never once ceased that dogged perusal. He found that he needed to prove to himself that despite the corruption of the government and the spiralling state of morality in the nation, that the immutable, cleansing power of the _truth_ could _still_ hold sway.

..And now at the end of things, despite everything that had happened, despite everything he might have lost, and everything he still stood to lose in the coming days, he'd be damned if it didn't feel like a victory…

**Glossary:** Chapter Title is Latin for: "_We are preparing for life."_

**A/N:** Please let me know what you think? Reviews and constructive critiquing are love!


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** I don't own V for Vendetta or any of its characters. See the original chapter for a complete set of warnings. (As for this particular chapter, certain information stated in the authors notes and disclaimers directly apply). IE: I don't own the rights to the text relating to Valerie's letter.

**Warnings:** This is a story that connects to the movie-verse version of V for Vendetta. It is meant to carry on post movie ending. It revolves around my own interpretations of the movie (not the graphic novel). It is a Finch-centeric fic, with Finch/Dominic slash. So, in others words, there shall be in some shape or form, man on man happy time. Not your cup of tea? I suggest you pass it by. Still with me? Fabulous!

**Words will Always Retain their Power**

_Chapter 4 –__**"**_**Accipere quam facere praestat injuriam****"**

It was only after he had showered and forced down a few mouthfuls of some questionable looking take out scrounged from the depths of his fridge that he sat down on the couch with a generous measure of scotch, and finally let himself bring out that delicate roll of paper.

The moment felt provincial, and decidedly auspicious in its sincerity. Something that he knew was absolute tosh, as he had yet to read even a single word of the bloody thing. Though he'd be damned if he couldn't shake the feeling..

"_I know there's no way I can convince you this is not one of their tricks, but I don't care. I am me. My name is Valerie. I don't think I'll live much longer, and I wanted to tell someone about my life. This is the only autobiography that I will ever write and God, I'm writing it on toilet paper…"_

After only the first few lines he found that despite the terrible nature of the words scrawled across the page in front of him, he knew he couldn't look away. The words were too raw, too powerful and too desperate to ignore. And despite all his efforts to pace himself it seemed as though all too quickly he was entirely immersed in the cramped, yet surprisingly neat handwritten script. It seemed as though every letter had been painstakingly written, like the author had been overly conscious not only of her limited space, but of the short time she had in which to write it.

And as he read, his tumbler of scotch breathed into obscurity on the side table. All thoughts of a soothing drink while he read left abandoned and forgotten on the sidelines of his conscious thought. Not even noticing when his mobile, already pointedly muted and tossed carelessly atop across his abandoned suit jacket, began vibrating insistently.

"…_But I'd only told them the truth. Was that so selfish? Our integrity sells for so little, but it is all we really have. It is the very last inch of us. But within that inch we are free."_

Something thick and painful rose in his throat. And for a moment he couldn't see for the flashes of memories that flickered across the surface of his minds eye. This woman… this _Valerie_ had been right. In the end ones integrity and self worth_,_ regardless of the situation or circumstance you may find yourself in, was something you could always lay claim to. _It was uniquely yours to do with what you willed. _Only with the coming of Norsefire, things such as ones authenticity and personal principles became _dangerous_. He had seen whole families die for it, _because_ of it. And now it seemed as though no one told the truth anymore, not even to themselves.._.A crime in which he knew he was all too guilty._

"_I remember how the meaning of words began to change. How unfamiliar words like 'collateral' and 'rendition' became frightening, while things like 'Norsefire' and the 'Articles of Allegiance' became powerful. I remember how 'different' became dangerous. I still don't understand it, why they hate us so much.."_

The hand not gently clutching the fragile piece of paper curled into a tight fist, his fingers digging viciously into the crumpled fabric of the armrest as he sought to control the force of his rising emotions. His mouth firmed into a hard slash that cut across the span of his face like an open wound, unrepentant and angry as nervous tension vibrated up the long length of his thighs, quivering just under the skin as he forced himself to remain still. The heady silence punctuated only by the sound of the age warped paper quivering lightly in his grip.

And while no outward expression appeared on his face, just beneath the surface he fought to keep something baser, something snarling from the darkened shadows that existed beyond the confines of his conscious thought from breaking free.

Instinctively, some long forgotten part of himself even recognized it. It was something that had remained dormant for far too long, something that had turned poisonous and almost demented with the passing of the years. In the past it had always been something he had been able pacify, controlling such untoward emotions under an iron band of logic, rational thought, and a healthy sense of self preservation.

_Until now that is.._

Because now that there was no longer a government to fear, a fallacy to uphold, or a party line to toe he found that he could barely hold himself in check. And that fact alone scared him more then the government, in all their petty cruelty and merciless acts of injustice ever had..

_Control was one of the only things he had left. He couldn't .._

He felt locked in place, his thick fingers curling around the brittle paper like a drowning man does to a lifeline, utterly besieged by the ferocity of his own thoughts. And as his emotions churned deep and undeniably powerful in his gut, rising threateningly in his throat like bile, he couldn't help but feel a small twang of fear.

_Fear of himself_. But perhaps more pointedly, his fear that after having repressed so much of himself and what he felt for so long, that he might have lost the ability to cope with such violate feelings entirely.

"…_It seems strange that my life should end in such a terrible place, but for three years I had roses and apologized to no one…"_

He wondered suddenly, despite the pain building in his fist, nails digging deeply into the flesh of his palm, if he had ever seen this Valerie. Had they ever walked past each other on the street? Stood together in line at the market? Had she ever come into the station? He wondered what she looked like.. She would be beautiful, she _sounded_ beautiful.

It was the most surreal and horribly illuminating moment of his entire life. And suddenly he felt as though he was back at Larkhill, feeling the exact same way he had standing admist the crumbled mortar and twisted metal slats. Entirely overwhelmed by the brute force of the terrible realization he had made.

And much like then he had no other way of describing it other then to say that he felt remarkably as though he was _drowning_. And worse, the growing suspicion that he had only _himself_ to blame.

"_I shall die here. Every inch of me shall perish. Every inch, but one. An inch. It is small and it is fragile and it is the only thing in the world worth having. We must never lose it or give it away. We must __**never **__let them take it from us."_

He was momentarily startled from his thoughts when a small drop of liquid blossomed across the delicate missive, encasing the last few words in a grey, lead tinted blur. Baffled he shifted place, the worn fabric of his trousers chaffing roughly across the sharp points of his knees as his aching limbs sought a more comfortable position in the well broken in arm chair.

But his discomfort only grew as _another _droplet quickly followed after the first. He was so unused to the sensation that it didn't even occur to him until a few seconds later as he felt the droplets start to course in tandem down his stubble roughened cheeks that he was crying.

_Jesus bloody Christ.._

It was more then a single drop this time. And in that way alone it seemed more then he could bear. In vain he tried to stop it, looking up at the ceiling, and blinking the damning moisture away. Desperately willing himself to pull it together and get a hold of himself. But it didn't work. Instead, all he could hear save for the damning nature of Valerie's words was a dull but growing roar building between his ears. It was a sound that he couldn't escape from, there was no corner in which he could hide or distraction to keep the reality of it at bay, because much like Valerie's words, the sound didn't come from the outside, it came from within..

The skin around his eyes felt tight, the bizarre sensation making it feel as though his eyes were suddenly far too big for his face. His vision fluttered alarmingly as static buzzed along the edges of his sight, shuttering on and off like a buggered up telly even as he shook his head in an effort to clear it. Yet despite this, he swiped at his face angrily, unsure if he was angry at himself or by what he was reading. But when the edges of his shirt sleeves came back damp and sodden through with tears, he figured that it might just be both.

.._God..he had forgotten what it felt like to let himself cry.._

"_I hope that whoever you are, you escape this place. I hope that the world turns, and that things get better. But what I hope most of all is that you understand what I mean when I tell you that even though I do not know you, and even though I may never meet you, laugh with you, cry with you, or kiss you, I love you. With all my heart, I love you. - Valerie."_

The silence was palpable. All he could hear above the stillness was the painfully ragged edges of his own breathing. And for an ageless moment he simply sat there, fingers going loose and shell shocked around Valerie's unfurled letter.

He didn't..No he _couldn't_…He just..

With a sound more suited to that of a wild animal, a wordless yell tore up from his throat, his glass of scotch going flying from the side table, backhanded into oblivion by a vicious, angry swipe of his hand. Its progress hindered abruptly and quite violently as it smashed into the wall across from him, splinting with a deafening as glass shards flew everywhere, propelled across the room with the sheer force of the motion. The rich liquid painting the walls with a sick, honey-like hue as it dripped sluggishly down the olive painted wall, sinking thickly into the carpeting even as he kicked himself to his feet.

He tasted copper as his teeth sunk viciously into his lower lip, pacing the length of the room. _Once…Twice… And then again. _

_He couldn't take this. He just couldn't. He didn't know what to do, how to stop it…_

And suddenly, despite the tears that were still running steadily down his cheeks, tears that for the life of him he couldn't seem to stop, he realized that the thick, viscous feeling tightening like an iron vice in his chest, threatening to choke off his very breath, was anger.

.. _Anger._

But it wasn't like any form of anger he had ever known. It was overpowering, toxic, and it flowed through his veins like liquid napalm, noxious and deadly. It radiated from within, _burning him._ It was too much. And he couldn't stop it.

_Blimey..He didn't even want to stop it._

He was angry for all the Valerie's and Ruth's, for all the Gordon Deitrich's, V's, Dominic's, and even for all the Evey's. He was angry for all the countless thousands of stories that he would never get the chance to hear. He was angry for the families torn apart, for the love that had been trampled down, robbed, and squandered.

He was angry for himself..and _at_ himself..

_God..he thought he could die from it. Die from all this poison. This hate. He had never felt the equal to it in all his life. He didn't know what to do with it! He felt…He felt…_

And all of a sudden, like a lightening bolt to the brain, as he stood there in the center of his living room, the scent of upset scotch rising tangy and acidic in his nostrils, he realized that he _understood_.

Because it in that sudden, gloriously horrifying moment he _finally_ understood _everything_. Before he had had all the facts, he could more or less piece it all together, from the hard evidence they did have and the allusions he had been able to make on his own. But what he had been _missing_ was the _emotion_, the one thing that would enable him to understand the_ true _cause of this entire sordid affair_._

For the first time in over three hundred and sixty five days he finally understood **why…**_He knew why V had done it. Why it had happened…Why England had been spurred on towards the change it so desperately needed.. Only now that he knew, now that he knew it all, he didn't know if he could stand it._

It felt remarkably as though everything he had gleaned at Larkhill, everything that had happened in the past year._. __**No**_..in the past _twenty seven years_ since Norsefire had come to dominate England's political spectrum had descended upon him all at once, suffocating him under the sheer weight of the years and the injustices which had accompanied them.

_They were all part of it…and all trapped by it. All still trapped by it..Trapped by themselves. Trapped by the weight of those long crushing years.._

And it all played out in his minds eye, flickering past his unseeing eyes like an old fashioned movie reel. The clarity sullied by an ever growing haze of damning crimson, utterly and completely inescapable in its sullen veracity.

…A plot of painstakingly tended Scarlet Carsons growing out of an apartment window box. Somehow inexplicably thriving despite the constantly overcast nature London's iconic skyline…

..Sutler speaking at a political rally, bracketed on all sides by his parties swirling red and black banners, his supporters cheering with zealous abandon as he raised his fists into the air. His hateful, virulent words echoing out through the city streets like gunshots..

..The day that movies such as '_Aimee & Jaguar'_, _'A Beautiful Thing'_, _'Brokeback Mountain'_, and _'The Salt Flats'_ were stripped from store shelves all across the United Kingdom. The gaps quickly filled with government approved drivel and other family oriented media..

..Him staring into the depths of his fireplace, watching as the flames ignited the piles of photographs and papers, systematically destroying everything he was before the dawn of Norsefire. Ignoring the sound of his phone ringing, tinny and insistent in the background as the rim of a cheap bottle of Scotch flirted with the edge of his lips as he downed one choking mouthful after another, desperate for the warm, numbing escape the brew inevitably provided.

…The destruction of Larkhill, and the inhuman yell of a man standing admist the wreckage. Roaring his terrible, unavenged anger and defiance out into the unassuming night sky, drowning out the cries and screams of the others until all that could be heard above the crackling roar of the crumbling brick and flame was that single, seemingly unstoppable sound.

…Deliha hurling her journal clear across the span of a lonely, one room apartment, anguished screams ripping up from her delicate throat as the news broadcasts reeled damningly across the screen, the responsibility for the deaths of nearly a hundred thousand people falling like stone weights across her thin, bird-like shoulders.

…Forcing himself to endure the nights he now spent alone after the coming of Norsefire. Trying to rationalize the decision to himself each and every evening when he returned home to an empty house. Eventually coming to the realization that when he did, he had scant to look forward too but a growingly common measure of midnight scotch and the hope that the criminals of London would allow him the common decency of a full nights sleep. Knowing full well that even if they did, there would be nothing there to greet him save for the stale, lingering scent of himself among his unmade sheets…

..The day Dominic appeared in his office for the first time. A cocky grin splayed clear across his handsome face as laughing brown eyes watched his every move, glinting with half veiled humour. As if the younger man knew something that he did not..

..The helpless frustration that broiled just under the surface every time friend, or colleague turned up missing, lost under the suffocating darkness of one of Creedy's damnable black hoods, effectively wiping them off the face of the earth…

…The first time he could recall hearing Dominic laugh. Coming across him in the station's lobby one day virtually surrounded by a gaggle of his extended family, as holding his youngest niece in his arms, and chuckling happily at something the little red haired cherub had said. Their heads bowed together in comedic confidence as her tiny little fingers tangled in his suspender straps, playing curiously with the edges of his silver detective badge as Dominic had hurried to make introductions…

..The feelings going through his mind when he had whirled in place, boot heels screaming across the immaculate marble floors just in time to see Dominic plunge from the ladder, the gunshot echoing perversely through the empty halls..

…Curfew lights flashing as night fell, yet another method of control in an already suffocating society..

..Dominic leaning over his computer chair, brushing shoulders companionably with him as they skim read the latest evidence report on their current case. The younger man not even seeming to notice when their jacket sleeves tangled together. Neither of them pulling away or even so much as shifting in discomfort when the bare skin of their wrists accidentally brushed together. Electricity sparking all the way down to his fingertips as he felt the hairs on the man's arm hush across the sensitive skin of his wrist in a heady, thrilling rush.

..The Old Bailey exploding in the early morning hours of the fifth, destroyed without even a hint of warning. With Dominic's name being the first to flash across the screen of his call display mere moments after the fireworks subsided, having to yell to be heard overtop Tchaikovsky's full bodied overture..

..The blinding sheen of the BTN's over waxed floors glinting in the background as Dominic yelled in pain, whirling in place as Evey's mace hit him squarely between the eyes. The butt of his USP Compact slamming across her delicate skull with a sickening crack..

..Evey Hammonds pretty face flashing across the Interlink, plastered across every surface of the station, adorning every planning board, and every wanted poster in every government office around the city. The entire city caught in an uproar as the mocking porcelain face of Guy Fawkes smirked out from the surveillance footage like the spectre of an age long since past.…

…The familiar, yet enticing way Dominic smelled when he arrived for work in the mornings, breezing through the office doors in a fascinatingly complex cloud of cologne, favoured coffee, dryer lint, and the more subtle, natural musk that always seems to herald that of uninhibited masculinity.

…The sight of Sutler's perpetually sulking face barely peeking out from the partially covered canvas of_ 'God save the Queen'_ as Creedy's Fingermen logged the piece as evidence taken from Gordon Deitrich's house at the station. No one daring to crack even so much as the slightest of smirks as they stalked grimly past..

…The horror he had felt as the gross headlines of tragedies and atrocities long since past flashed across his computer screen. The most horrifying realization of his entire career reflecting unapologetically back at him from the screen of his desktop, as if daring him to say that he hadn't half suspected it all along…

…The look on Dominic's face when he kicked the rubbish bin clear across the office floor, burning with unchecked resentment after V's impersonation of Rookwood had been revealed..

…Day three hundred as it dawned, finding Dominic hovering quietly over their abused little coffee maker, looking unaccustomedly subdued after yet another night spent buried under a mound of growingly obvious dead ends. Dark circles glowing like shallow bruises underneath his tired brown eyes. _For once, they nearly matched.._

…The sight of Chancellor Sutler growing increasingly irate and irrational as the months flew swiftly past, screeching vehemently at them through the Council Interlink when all they had to report were dead ends and the revival of already over discussed strategies..

…The sight of Dominic looking back at him through the dim light of the Underground, a swath of grease and dirt smudged clear across the span of his right cheek. Desperately trying to ignore the way his fingers had itched to lean over and wipe it away as they searched the tunnels by torch light only two weeks before the fifth, still playing on his 'hunch'..

…An elaborate set of dominos falling, echoing deafeningly across a cold stone floor, each one falling louder then the one that preceded it. Growing until you couldn't separate the sound of each individual piece as it fell, encompassed by the overwhelming roar of the whole..

…Boot heels flying as he jumped across the uneven length of the subway tracks, chasing the faint sound of gunshots as they echoed into the night, rolling through the Underground like thunder…

…Big Ben slowly chiming, counting down the last seconds before midnight. Feeling strangely aware of the way the metallic chill of the USP Compact had warmed in his palm, sending spider-like tendrils of heat up through his fingers, the sensation somehow combating the noted midnight chill that permeated the underground even as he rounded the last corner and spilled out into the brightly light subway station.

…The feelings that had overtaken him when he had faced down Evey Hammond through the open door of the trolley, V laid out to rest in the background admist a sea of long stemmed roses. But perhaps more importantly, the feelings roaring through his brain the moment where he had slowly lowered his gun and knowingly allowed the world to change..

..Thoughts of Dominic and the future milling through his mind as he stood alone once again on his own front steps, watching a dark haze rise where Parliament had once stood, its absence standing out like a gaping would across the urban skyline…

…The feeling of that thin little scroll brushing across his calloused palms as the elusive, phantom-like voice of a woman he had never met, a woman he _would_ never meet echoed in his exhausted ears..

_Sweet Christ!_

And then, just when he thought he might finally cop out of it all entirely, lost under the all consuming weight of emotions that threatened to erase everything he _was_, everything he had _left_ save for the hate and the anger, he did something that he had never done in his entire adult life…

With a feral, cut off yell infused with all the anger, fear, self loathing, and every other emotion he had no way of adequately expressing, he hauled back and threw his fist into his living room wall.

His world imploded into a kaleidoscope of razor sharp pin pricks of light, with pain riding on the coat tails of an almost perverse sense of pleasurable relief as his hand broke through the plaster and sunk up to the wrists in a fluttering cloud of pulverized paint chips. The pain centered him, bringing him back to himself in a slow, all inclusive rush that was mottled with a million other tired emotions that lanced up from his fist and back into his mind.

_It felt like punishment, like redemption, like a release… Like it was what he deserved._

He didn't know why, but the pure ferocity of the action calmed him almost immediately. And despite the angry throb splintering up from his hand he realized that for some daft reason he felt.._better_, better then he had in a long time.

_In fact, he couldn't even bring himself to regret it. _

Breathing hard, he finally let it go, letting the tension bleed out from his limbs like toxins draining from a gangrenous wound. He remained where he was, slumped against the wall with his fist still engulfed, wrist deep in broken plaster and paint. He felt strangely aware of that fact that his other palm had spread, spider-like across the cool surface wall against his forehead, seeking out the soothing chill as his mind whirled, bearing the brunt of his churning, turbulent emotions.

_Had this whole year unhinged him completely? Did he even care if it had?_

He didn't know what he was supposed to feel anymore. He felt so much, yet understood so little of what he did feel. He almost wished that he would never feel again. But yet at the same time, as he looked down at the note in his hands, the words _'I love you. With all my heart, I love you..' _just visible from around the protective curve of his fingers, he knew that he could _never_ truly feel _enough_. And that he should _never_ wish for anything otherwise. _She never had._. Even at the end of things, Valerie had never begrudged herself that. Despite the consequences she had still _felt_, still loved.

_She had had her inch._

And as if to impress that point further, his fist gave a reproachful little throb from somewhere within the mangled hole that now adorned his previously immaculate living room wall. The depression being somewhere close to chest height in orientation and easily viewable by anyone who might chance a look up the flight of stairs that led from his front door.

_But it didn't matter. He wasn't hiding anymore._

He shook his head, unable to help himself when he started chuckling weakly at his own foolishness. The sound was rusty and soft, but there nonetheless, rolling up from his throat in a refreshing burst of sound. Was this where all his years of restraint and carefully maintained control had gotten him? Stuck with his fist slammed clear through his living room wall?

_..Figures.._

Perhaps it was time to stop reminding himself of all the reasons why he _shouldn't, _why he_ couldn't _do and act the way he saw fit. And at the very least, begin _trying_ to work towards the things that he wanted. It was his life after all, and his to do with what he wished.

_A fact he had apparently forgotten somewhere along the way.._

It was time to put an end to this almost three decade long saga. Because if he had learned _anything _today it was that to live your life afraid to love, whether that be love towards yourself or towards others, was almost as heart breaking as having that love torn away. And while he could only speak for himself, he knew that he had had his fill of living in fear! He had had his fill of censoring his own thoughts and his own damn desires simply for the sake of this marcibre charade, for the sake of survival.

_..It really was remarkable how the act of blowing up a single building could suddenly change everything.._

He felt remarkably as though after an agonizing twenty seven year wait, that he could finally breathe again. _Christ_. He felt unstable. Jittery with exhausted energy even as a sense of something close to peace descended over him, soothing him in a way that a tumbler of scotch, for all it's numbing euphoria could never equal.

_..It felt like he was finally ready to start living again._

Schooling his breathing he slumped even further across the cool expanse of narrow olive coloured wall, letting his forehead rest against the smooth, tapered texture as he soaked up the chill greedily. Desperate for anything to soothe the acrid burn still burbling in his gut, the noxious anger slowly drained away, leaving him bereft of the sudden adrenaline that had coursed through his veins, burning through him like gasoline set alight.

_There was so much to think about.._

Every breath was an effort but he forced himself to straighten; rocking back on his heels for a long moment as he slowly regained his balance. Hefelt as though he had hit a plane of sensation that existed far beyond the realm of simple exhaustion. Feeling physically and emotionally wrecked by emotions he hadn't let himself truly experience in god only knows how long.

_Bleedin' Christ.. He felt like he had been blindsided by a lorry._

And as he gingerly pulled his fist from the wall, ignoring the crimson smears that pockmarked the ragged edges, and the pulverized bits of drywall and paint dust that fluttered heavily through the air like paper rain; he swore that he could _still_ smell gunpowder…

**Glossary:** Chapter title is Latin for: "_It is better to suffer an injustice than to do an injustice."_

**A/N #1:** Please let me know what you think? Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! If you took time to read it, please tell me how you found it. This is how I go about improving my writing.

**A/N #2:** Expect Dominic in present time in the next chapter. FINALLY. YES. I know. I totally got distracted with plot, which in probably not a bad thing either… My muse is suspenseful old lady, I swear.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** I don't own V for Vendetta or any of its characters. Wishful thinking aside. See original chapter for a _complete set of disclaimers and other story related information._

**Warnings:** See original chapter for a complete set of warnings. I plan to wrap up this story in the three or four more chapters. Thus, beginning in this chapter, there will be a notable shift in content. This chapter marks that beginning of the more slash related content. So, if you have _somehow_ managed to make it this far without realizing this is a slash story and such content offends you, you might wanna zip off now, or risk being converted by the hawtness! Hee!

**Authors Note #1:** Please read and review. I am excited to see what you all think. I am open to comments, advice, and constructive criticism. This is my first V for Vendetta story and I am still looking for constructive feedback.

**Words will Always Retain their Power **

_Chapter 5_ – **"****Vos fortuna est quis vos planto"**

He had only been asleep for maybe six, utterly blissful hours when he was awakened by a flurry of pounding at his front door. Rousting him from a dead sleep as the sound quickly morphed into a growingly impatient, base sounding rhythm that echoed through the entire house. The sound shattering the still calm that had descended when he had finally dragged his sorry arse to bed, fast asleep before he even had the chance to do so much as pull down the covers properly.

Slipping into awareness more smoothly then a normal person slips into their shoes, he bounded from between the bed covers, his bare feet curling against the chilled carpet the same moment his hand found his side arm, plucking it from his side table in one smooth, uninterrupted motion. He was halfway to the door by the time it slid home, nestling firmly in his palm, frigid and glinting in the near light before the fifth knock had even _begun_ to echo throughout the darkened hall.

He kept the lights off, taking the stairs two at a time until he reached the door, overly conscious of the fact that given the events of the past twenty four hours, literally _any _situation could be awaiting him, and not all of them particularly pleasant either. It was only when he looked through the spy hole, squinting out into the foggy morning that he was shocked to discover the form of his subordinate standing nervous and edgy on his front porch, looking behind him repeatedly, as though suspicious he was being followed.

For the second time that night, fear, anger and adrenaline roared through him like fire trapped deep in his veins. _Was someone tailing him? Was someone after him? Christ! With all that had happened he hadn't even considered that Dominic might be a target. Having assumed that any backlash that could have conceivably come their way, whether from the government or some angry citizen would have been directed at himself. Damnit! He should have known better! _

Cursing under his breath, he yarded the door open, gun up, shoulders squared and prepared to bring hell fire and the devils fury down upon whoever was tailing his man.

But the moment he opened the door the man all but burst though, practically vibrating with nervous energy, his mouth opening and then promptly closing again, as though he had planned on saying something, but had suddenly changed his mind.

_What the hell? There was no panic.. No desperation.. Nor even the slightest indication of suspicion_ _from the man now firmly planted just inside his front door.. Dominic didn't even have his gun out for Christ sakes! What the bloody hell is going on?_

Flowing out in the man's wake, gun still raised he looked up and down the street, straining for the slightest sound that would reveal what was going on. But there was _nothing_. Not even a single untoward sound to be heard. And there was certainly nothing, or at least no one following him. Indeed, the street looked suspiciously empty and rather silent in spite of the man's earlier behaviour, making him feel remarkably foolish and increasingly irate as he realized he was standing out on his own front steps in naught by his skivvies, likely giving his neighbours one hell of a show.

Stamping down his confused irritation, he grunted in annoyance as he stepped back inside, flicking the safety down on his gun as he set his expression into a mixture of confusion, circumspection, and what he sincerely hoped was a look authoritarian enough to set the young detective's head back on straight.

He blew out a long, steadying breath as he took in the man before him. Who under his steady gaze and close scrutiny had uncharacteristically retreated until he was level with the door jam. _The younger man looked..well…he looked a mess._

The man looked uncommonly debauched, with his normally immaculate hair always parted severely yet rakishly to the side, now set free of its confining part. Ruffled all to hell, and sending the odd lock of auburn brown trailing down to frame his cheeks, hanging there for a few long moments before it was inevitably swatted away in growing irritation. A condition that somehow made the man look about a decade younger then he actually was.

Even his clothing, yet another aspect of the man's persona that was generally as precise and as immaculate as his hair style, was now noticeably rumpled and scuffed, creased with wrinkles and smeared with dust and dirt. And he couldn't help but notice as the man stood, practically fidgeting in front of him, hands roving from his hips to his trouser pockets, how the man's tie was inexplicably missing, with one side of his collar having somehow popped up completely, while the other side seemed strangely flattened.

But it wasn't just his persona that spoke volumes to the man's state of mind; it was evident across his very skin, with the sides of his eyes slightly creased, as if they had been pressed up against a hard surface, and with the odd pressure line rimming the outline of his chin and cheeks. Even his face looked uncommonly flushed despite the agreeable weather.

…_He might have felt like he had gotten hit by a lorry earlier, but by the look of it, Dominic might have actually had…_

"Dominic..?" He finally greeted. The word coming out of his mouth more like a mish-mash of a greeting and a question all tied together rather then the man's name. The name itself seeming heavy and laden down with the weight his unvoiced questions as it slipped from his lips.

"Inspector, I have to..." The younger man began in a rush, uncharacteristically not even pausing to greet him before he trailed off altogether, words coming to an abrupt halt as his eyes seared down the length of him.

Momentarily confused at what would have caused the man to be so strapped for words, he followed the man's gaze downward. …_Ah…_

The corners of his lips twitched slightly as he fought down a small grin. His free hand coming up to run through his shaggy mess of hair in a rather useless gesture, something that coincidentally didn't work on the best of days and would certainly do him no good now, especially after having spent half the night mashed severely into his pillows.

.._Poor Dominic_. He must look quite the sight, gun in hand, black hair sleep tousled and unruly, clad in only a pair of navy blue boxer shorts and his worn grey academy t-shirt…It was like something out of bad day time television..

However, as quickly as amusement struck, discomfort descended as well when he realized that despite being in the comfort of his own home, and having always been relatively confident in his own skin, he felt remarkably exposed under Dominic's wide eyed stare. Realizing that this was the first time the man had probably ever seen him out of work attire, or even so much as one of his long sleeved dress shirts. It was a feeling that he certainly didn't relish, but it threw him off guard all the more when his first thoughts on how to deal with the matter notably _did not _revolve around him not so subtly reminding his subordinate that it _**was **_four in the bleedin' morning, and it had been _**him**_ that had been pounding on his door like a bloody snow ball trying to escape from the fires of hell.

Instead his thoughts mostly seemed to revolve around the sudden realization that he hadn't shaved in over forty eight hours, and that his old t-shirt was just a mite too tight, worn thin with sentimental favouritism, showing off the outline of his chest starkly, leaving little guess to any imperfections that his body might hold.

He wasn't used to the emotions of self doubt and discomfort, at least not in regards to something as mundane as his own appearance and body image. In fact he was generally as pleased with his own appearance as he could be. Though he was not vain by any stretch of the imagination, even he could accept that despite his years he had certainly aged well. He exercised regularly, taking pride in himself and his ability to keep up with men on the force half his age. He dressed as his station expected, no more and no less, but was rarely without one of his signature suits and overcoats. Indeed he had even once been told that his dark black hair, now lightened here and there by the odd piece of silver, made him look distinguished rather then aged.

But now, with Dominic just standing there taking him in, he suddenly felt the full weight of his years. Indeed he felt remarkably…rumpled and care worn in comparison.

_..Damn Dominic and his infernal timing anyway!_

And worse, now that the man was here his thoughts seemed to run wild, restless and worrisomely feral. He found that he almost couldn't help it as his mind cycled back, allowing him a reprieve as his continued to sort through his jumbled thoughts. And as his mind raced, he couldn't help but dwell upon the day that Dominic Stone had made his poignant yet rather unremarkable appearance in his life.

Despite how those daft day time soaps and paper pack romances like to tell it, his feelings towards Dominic had been fashioned through a liberal dosing of real life rather then fairy tale. It was not love at first sight, or even lust. In fact he had disliked the slick haired, well groomed man from the moment his cocky, designer clad arse had taken up residence in the desk across from his and had vehemently refused to be intimidated into leaving_. _

_Dodgy little git_.

Because the truth was that Dominic Stone had been a festering tack on his ass from day one. _Period._

To start, he hadn't been looking for a partner in the _first place_. And the last thing he needed was a lunk head straight out of the academy that had an itchy trigger finger, and was raring to get his prick wet. And he certainly didn't need some rich mans son playing hero.

But at the end of the day, the point was that he worked alone for a reason. Because in his case the old adage held true, he didn't play well with others and he knew it. He had always been a bit too introverted and solitary to form any lasting, mutually beneficial partnerships in the past. Yet despite this, over the years, by merit of his dedication and impressive case ratio, he had risen to such a position that he had generally earned the privilege to work as he choose to… _alone_.

Or so he had thought until that day, six years ago now, when that young, clean cut yahoo had had the balls to look him straight in the eye from his seat at the desk across the room, coat already assumingly hung up on _his_ coat rack, greeting him with a cheery: "Good morning Inspector."

Indeed, now that he thought about it, not much had changed since then if you took into account that sole, morning routine. The man always greeted him the same way, often even with that same, cocked up little grin, as the tired, liquidly perk of the coffee maker bubbled in the background.

He had never been able to get a straight answer out of his superiors as to why he had been saddled with the slick haired rookie. Even Human Resources had remained inexplicably mum on the subject, which was certainly saying something as they were undoubtedly the biggest gossips in the department. Because despite his constant queries, they had only nudged him in the direction of the mans exemplary file, saying only when pressed that the order had come from 'higher up' and that was all they had to say on the matter.

At the time it had been maddening, because righteous irritation and indignation aside, the thought had of course crossed his mind that this was simply another form of government surveillance. Indeed, it wouldn't be the first time Creedy or one of Sutler's underlings had swung his ass over the fire in an effort to sway his decision regarding a case or an opinion on the High Council. _He wasn't above the occasional bout of paranoia after all. Especially not these days.._

His irritation on the matter had stuck for some time, despite the fact that those thoughts were eventually proved false, with Dominic Stone turning out be no more then he appeared to be. The currently estranged son of a wealthy, up and coming aristocrat who was too busy holding a grudge over the fact that his youngest son had chosen to graduate out of the University of Westminster and go directly to the Police Academy over the political aspirations his father had planned for him, to notice the budding potential his son actually showed for the job.

And after a while, when it appeared that his best efforts at being effacing and downright disagreeable had failed, and the repressible man didn't appear to be going anywhere any time soon, he had eventually resigned himself to playing nursemaid for the foreseeable future. _The man was a stubborn little git, he'd give him that._

…Only the thing was that he eventually he got _used_ to him…

Somewhere along the line, dislike had turned into toleration, and then sometime later to hedging sort of forbearance. Until that too was overtaken by a grudging form of acceptance. It hadn't been long after that when rather predictably, that same acceptance had spiralled down into familiarity, camaraderie and eventually even friendship.

Because in spite of his best efforts, they meshed together in a way no partnership ever had. In the beginning, it had started off with the little things. Like the way the man always seemed to beat him to work in the mornings, even when he was hours early himself. When he would arrive in the morning to find their current case already prepped and laid out, coffee perking in the background, with two mugs placed beside the machine in weary anticipation. And eventually, he began to appreciate that fact. _Hell_, he even grew to look _forward_ to the way that Dominic would always stop what he was working on to bid him good morning, emerging out of a case file in favour of engaging him in discussion over some topic of current interest, whether it was case related or not, ever interested in his thoughts and opinions on such matters before sharing his own.

He valued the fact that from the very beginning, Dominic had always had the balls to meet his eyes when he spoke to him, not at all intimidated by either his position or his manner. Telling him straight up what he thought about a case without any semantically formed governmental bullshit. It also didn't hurt that the man was his equal in intellect, more often complimenting each others thought processes then hindering them. Indeed even from the get-go it seemed all too easy to bounce ideas off the man, dissecting a case so freely and so effortlessly that it seemed all but provincial.

_The man grew on him. Like a fungus. It was utterly daft._

He even grew to appreciate the fact that they could argue to the point of raised voices, subsiding into simmering glares over top the flimsy barricades of their computer screens, thinking all manner of unsavoury thoughts about the other when the occupants of the neighbouring offices started pounding on the walls in retaliation.

Because he knew with absolute certainty, that within a mere few hours he would find Dominic plunking down an extra large cup of that exquisite, if not entirely overly priced coffee that he was far to frugal to buy from himself, affixing him with a pointed look before popping the lid on his own and pointedly starting a conversation that had absolutely _nothing_ to do with what they had been previously quarrelling over. Or depending on the circumstances, he would find himself coaxing the man out after shift, springing for dinner at the old pub down by the docks that they both liked. A peace offering shared with the clink of beer steins and the scrape of utensils against plates until one of them invariably broke the silence, knowing full well that all was eventually forgiven between them.

_It was bloody weird. But it was them._

And perhaps it was the fact that Dominic had quickly gained his respect as well. Something that even in the most favourable of circumstances was remarkably difficult to attain. _There was a good reason why he kept largely to himself after all._

Looking back on it, it was hard to tell when that shift had occurred. As there had never been any one signature moment where in which he had realized that he had not only come to _like_ the man, but _respect_ him as well. But he figured that at the end of the day, at least he knew part of the reason why.

Up until Dominic he had figured he was simply the last of a dying breed, especially given the level of fear, and shoddy training that the National Policing Improvement Agency imparted on the new recruits in the decades after Norsefire came into power. A system of training where in which the importance of things such as the judicial truth, and the desire to solve crime for the good of humankind had been systematically acclimated to a specific set of government protocols and an increasingly obvious Party agenda. Indeed, such practices had only grown in application until it felt more like agencies such as the Metropolitan Police Service and the Homicide and Serious Crime Agency existed more for the benefit of the Party then their nation's people.

_And if that wasn't the definition of corruption, he didn't know __**what**__ was…_

Indeed, dislike of the man aside, he was quick to realize that much like himself, the younger man seemed to genuinely care about justice. About actively seeking out the truth and championing the continuing need for moral law and civility, especially in these growingly problematic times.

It was an awareness, a _drive_, hell, even a _desire_ that went beyond anything he had seen in the others, even in his own colleagues. Because unlike the other depressingly multiplying carbon copies that seemed to have over run the policing arena of late, Dominic had struck him as being remarkably _real_ and strikingly honest. A rare spark admist a growing horde of brainwashed brats that wouldn't recognize an act of compassion or common decency even if it stripped naked and danced the Electric Jive right under their noses.

And this realization, as slow and as gradual as it had been, had been refreshing enough for him to pause, and actually stop to consider Detective Dominic Stone. And like a moth to the flame, he had willingly, if not somewhat uncomprehendingly thrown himself into the blaze.

_Ironically, it had all been dominos from there on in…_

Because eventually somewhere along the line, that companionably familiarity and budding respect had turned into something more, at least for him.

It had been the kind of feeling that had mouldered under the surface of his conscious thought much like the slow, gradual burn of a peat fire. Simmering out of sight and out of mind until the day it bursts alight from the dampened coals and all but bowls you over with its intensity and raw truth. With the emotions both frightening and titillating him as he realised just how utterly and completely buggered he actually was.

And after that, as much as he repressed and berated himself for such useless and utterly impossible thoughts, in the end it didn't matter, the damage had already been done.

Because the truth was, he possibly and quite probably, loved the man. His _partner_, his _subordinate_, and a _man_ probably a decade or more his junior, all in an age when such love was not only unheard of but actively reviled and condemned. Even now it was as difficult for him to admit to himself as it _still _was to even think about. With far too many years of repression, self preservation, and his own cocked up hang ups having taken their toll.

_Figures. He never __**could**__ do anything the easy way._

To this day he still has no idea how long such feelings had remained dormant. Who knew how many months, or even years had gone by where he had managed to delude himself? But if he knew one thing, it was that he _did_ know the moment that he realized it.

Even without his life altering realization, it would have been a hard day to ever forget. It had been one of those nightmare cases. The kind that hits you like a roundhouse kick to the gut when you arrive on scene to find a broken window latch and an empty bed. The mounds of dolls and stuffed animals that you just _knew_ had all been specifically arranged by the little tot the night before, were now strewn in every imaginable direction, spilling off the bed, tangled together with the overturned bed sheets and linens until they layered the floor in a colourful jumble of smiling faces and empty, upraised arms.

It was the kind of case where you had to force yourself to appear calm and unaffected as you questioned sobbing mothers and pale faced fathers, clutching tightly to bits of clothing. Their hands close around impossibly tiny dresses and little pink socks as you gently pry them out of their trembling hands, handing them over to Dominic to give to the scent dogs. Even though all the while you feel remarkably as though you might need to streak outside and retch at any moment.

_All because he knew. He knew the odds, the percentages, and the outcomes of cases such as these. He knew how they so often ended. He wished he didn't, but he did._

Only this time they were all ridiculously lucky, and the nightmare had a happy ending. And only nineteen hours later he was able to personally deliver the young, but remarkably resilient little tot back into the ecstatically gratefully arms of her parents.

And despite the fact that they had just pulled the equivalent to almost three full shifts in a row, nothing could quite compare to the way the good natured little babe had cooed happily in his ear. Her chubby little fingers digging curiously into his thick, tousled black hair as he had scooped her up from where they had found her, abandoned in the deep woods close to forty miles outside the city as her abductor took off alone in a last ditch effort to escape. He had bundled her up in his overcoat as Dominic had looked on, pressed tight against his side, exhausted relief stamped clear across his tired face as the rest of the team blew past them, his eyes closing in unabashed gratitude as the girl burbled out a happy little laugh, clearly amused by something that was entirely beyond them both as she pressed her face, runny nose and all, right into the crook of his neck.

_He wouldn't have had it any other way._

And as he had left the family to their joyful reunion, watching with no small sense of rebellious satisfaction as Dominic had manhandled the deranged suspect into a squad car. He was reminded that at the end of the day, regardless of the party and the bloody government, _this _was exactly the kind of case that made his job _worthwhile. _

Not long afterwards he made a quick judgement call and timed them both out, ordering the man off duty for the next twenty four hours as he bid him goodnight. Not even making it as far as his own arm chair before he fell asleep still fully dressed, slumped half over the arm rest.

He found Dominic back in the office, only six criminally short hours later, swaying exhaustedly over the coffee maker when he himself had failed to heed his own advice.

_The man looked like beaten shit, so he was sure that he looked about five times worse… _

A number of things set off his alarm bells straight off. Because the man rarely even took off his _suit jacket_ at work, and yet here he was, dressed in only his dress shirt and gun braces, tie loose around his collar, and his suit jacket rumpled and abandoned carelessly over the shoulder of his desk chair.

He was still wearing the same dress shirt he had had on earlier, cut under his coal black suit when they had parted ways only a few hours before. The one that still had the faded brown coffee stain on the right cuff from the time the mail delivery cart had upset the mans cup as they had talked with the Superintendent in the main lobby. Only now, to add to it's rather forlorn appearance, the mans collar was now popped up in an odd way that made him half wonder if the man hadn't fallen asleep on his living room couch for a period before simply getting up and plodding right out the door for work again.

These outward observations were indications in themselves that the man was doing poorly. Dominic was fastidious and down right obsessive with anything from his workspace to his person. _As like him the man thrived under a certain modicum of control and self imposed order. _

"For god sakes Dominic. Didn't I tell you to go home?" He exclaimed quietly, far too tired to get more worked up about it then he already was. His movements stilted and slow as he made his way across the room.

"Yeah..But you're here Inspector, aren't you?" The man replied with a small smile, wiping a tired hand along the span of his blood shot eyes as the coffee maker hissed indignantly in the background.

_It was with that innocent, unassuming little phrase that the man almost killed him._

Because what the man was _really_ saying, was he wasn't here for the case, or the god damned job. He had come back for _him_. Because Dominic _knew_ he would be back and didn't want him to be alone. He had swallowed hard, trying to free his throat of the sudden lump that had taken up residence there.

Something sparked down the length of him as he had crossed the room, collecting Dominic's coat off the chair as he went, brushing shoulders with the man as he herded him right out the office door. Unapologetically manhandling the man out and into the car, entirely ignoring the man's exhausted, sleepy protests the entire length of the twenty minute drive.

He had made a point to walk the man all the way up the seven flights of stairs that made up the man's high rise building, and right up to his flat's door. Wordlessly badgering the man into compliance as he waited around, watching as the younger man fished out the keys and jammed them sullenly into the lock.

But even as the door had swung open and the homey smell of Dominic's apartment wafted out to greet him, as tired they both were, the man had stood there for a long moment, brow deliciously furrowed, looking from him to his open door in a way that immediately set his teeth on edge.

_Because while the man still looked tired, confused, and a million other minuet little emotions, he had suddenly taken on the look of a man who had just stumbled upon a very important, life altering realization. _

That was the moment where it had _really_ sunk in. Where everything he had felt in the office only a half an hour earlier finally crashed down on him. And call him a coward, but he had said his goodbyes and fled. Leaving Dominic standing there in the middle of the hallway, looking for the world of him like he wanted to say something more..

He sat in his car for a full thirty minutes afterwards, parked in front of the high-rise, his knuckles white around the steering wheel until he had collected himself enough so that he could safety drive home. _His hands had ached for days afterwards.._

It took him an hour of mucking about at home, mind electric with his own sudden realization before he faced the fact that sleep would be a long time coming. The overnight secretary hadn't even batted an eye when his time card had slid through, flashing a disgusting 3:35 am across the department's terminal, far too used to his habits by that point to question him.

He closed the file in two hours flat and left as quietly as he came in, dialling the Human Resources desk even as he slid into the car, calling in sick for the first time in over six years for his shift that started in only a few hours.

Dominic had called him seven times before noon the next day; practically beside himself by the time he had woken up and regained the presence of mind to ring the man back before he broke down and called the god damned Search and Rescue.

_..The entire thing had made absolutely no sense. But then again, he figured that love, and even attraction rarely did anyway.._

He cleared his throat softly, eventually rousted from his own concerns when the man in front of him shifted, his long but sturdy fingers curling around the door knob, seemingly for no other reason then to keep his flighty limbs occupied.

"You had something to tell me Dominic?" He eventually prompted when it became clear that the pointed silence growing between them was gaining them little ground.

"Yes…Yes. I do." The man affirmed, sounding more like he was trying to convince himself then anyone else as he shifted again, boot soles squeaking loudly against the glossy laminate floors.

"Just let me throw something on then." He finally returned when he realized that the man wasn't going to continue right away. Turning towards the stairs and thinking fond thoughts about a pair of trousers and a more company appropriate shirt. Hoping that by being fully dressed he could regain some of his equilibrium and at least feel as though they were both on equal footing again.

"No!..I mean..Don't trouble yourself sir..I- I probably wont be here very long anyway." Dominic replied rather fatalistically, embarrassment sending a light flush arrowing across the span of his cheeks as he ran a hand through his already dishevelled hair. The man seemingly unable to meet his eyes as he stared gob smacked at his young partner's outburst.

_Strange...He had never seen the man so flummoxed, so out of sorts.._

It was around that point that he realized that the man was still hovering in the door jam, not quite inside the house, but definitely not outside it either, as if the man were uncertain of his welcome.

"For god sakes Dominic, get in." He nearly growled, head cocked and suddenly alert to the not so subtle sounds of his aging neighbour in the town house across the street stirring. Her living room light switching on as the old snob of a bird, obviously far too interested in things that were certainty none of her bloody business, decided it was high time to investigate the source of all the early morning ruckus. He shut the door swiftly, effectively cutting off her view as the younger man all but jumped inside, nervous and practically twitching like a cadet fresh out of academy boot camp.

Outwardly he only raised an eyebrow, but inside his mind worked frantically, with worry beginning to outstrip any residual amusement and confusion that had previously lay in its stead. He forgot all about the fact that he was half naked, and that the floor was a mite too cold to be walking around in naught but his skivvies. Instead a thousand different explanations flashed through his mind. _Had something happened? Was the man leaving London? Leaving the department? Did he want a transfer? A new partner?_

"Dominic.." He didn't even know what he could say, what he _should_ say. When it came to personal things, even if it was just between _friends_..he wasn't just out of practise, he was so bloody useless it was practically _pathetic_. He had no idea how to approach this correctly. Though, on that note he figured that he might be in good company because judging by the man's mounting discomfort, apparently neither did Dominic.

"Oh right, sorry Inspector." The man murmured, apparently under the impression that he was been lightly reprimanded for his outburst. _Well this was certainly going well.._

"Eric." He replied suddenly; surprising himself as his gut clenched with a strange sense of nervous excitement as he spoke. He felt as though he were giving away something infinitely precious with the utterance of that single word. _His given name._ And in a sense, he supposed that he was. _This, at the very least, was something of himself that he could freely give to the man. Something safe._

"Sir?" Dominic returned confusion evident in his tone as he finally met his eyes for what seemed like the first time since he had all but blown through his front door.

"Under the circumstances.." He said, looking down at himself and around the apartment before going so far as to gesture out the window, where the lights of Parliament no longer glowed. "I think you can drop the formalities.." He finished with a pointed look.

And apparently he managed to say something right after all. Because the man flashed him one of those blinding, million candle watt smiles. The kind that went all the way up to his eyes, and was so utterly genuine and unguarded that not for the first time since Dominic had sashayed his way into his life, he felt his heart plummet into his gut.

Still, he figured that that daft feeling was neither here nor there because in the end it certainly didn't explain why the man was here, standing a few feet from the entrance to his own bloody living room in the same rumpled clothes he had been wearing when he had dropped him off at the Underground god only knows how many hours earlier.

Confusion battled exhaustion for dominance, the sensation crawling up the length of his tired limbs, and following the curve of his spine upwards until the feeling seemed to leech all the way up into his muddled brain. Seemingly overloaded to a point were even _he _was having issues processing.

Dominic obviously had something important to say; something that was clearly weighing as heavily on his mind as the events of the past twenty-four hours were on his own. The only difference that existed between them was the fact that he was getting the growing impression that Dominic's thoughts were ones that he probably didn't want to hear.

Cocking his head to ease the nervous tension building in the muscles of his neck, he raised a hand to rub across his tired, sleep encrusted eyes. But a quick arrow of splintering pain nipped that movement in the bud, and he hissed lightly as his injured fist throbbed reproachfully at the coarse action.

_Shite. He had almost forgotten._

He looked down, turning his hand so that it better caught the light. It was a right mess alright. His abrupt movement had torn open the slowly scabbing cuts, causing the delicate skin to crack and break, letting loose a tangible copperish tang into the close air. Even now the blood was already flowing over the ragged edges, trickling past the mangled skin to stream in sluggish, but growing rivulets between his knuckles and along the length of his bruised fingers. He had really done a number on himself, it had to be said.

_It had been a fool thing to do. But still, he couldn't bring himself to regret it.._

He was about to encourage the man to continue when Dominic caught sight of it, and before he could even react, the man made a small noise in the back of his throat and all but pounced. Indeed if he had been any less knackered, he might have marvelled on the fact that in that instant, all the awkwardness that had existed between them inexplicably vanished.

The younger man winced in sympathy as he took his bruised hand in his own. His long, pale fingers winding carefully around the edges of the wound in a way that made him all but freeze in place. He couldn't remember the last time someone had touched him like that, with _intent_.

He let loose the breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding as the man inspected the wound closely. Watching as Dominic's practiced hazel eyes lingered, looking from him to wall across from them with barely muted concern. His keen eyes taking in the ragged hole and the glinting shards of his scotch glass as they reflected in the low light. Standing out like an entirely different sort of wound, raw, blatant, and damning.

But when he offered up nothing in response, the man's unspoken question of _why_ was quickly shuttered behind a long perfected mask of professionalism and genuine concern. With Dominic's eyes returning to his hand, pointedly not looking at the broken plaster and bits of springy pink insulation that were threatening to spill out from the edges.

_Dominic always had been good at prioritizing. _

"It's fine." He said automatically, his own body betraying him as he clenched his hand at the unfamiliar sensation of the man's touch, the sudden tautness serving to only worsen the steadily building throb.

"Bollocks it is." The man responded, his expressive lips twisting around the unfamiliar words, shocking him into a brooding silence with the rare curse. As unlike himself, Dominic rarely swore or cussed, often regardless of the situation. He supposed it was likely due to the younger man's Ivy League boarding school education. Where the desired everyday mannerisms of the offspring of the rich and powerful were moulded, and in cases such as Dominic's, as deeply entrenched as the bruises you gained on your rear end if you questioned their purpose or validity. Indeed it was indication in of itself that despite having spent more then a decade of his childhood in such schools, it was remarkably rare that Dominic had anything positive to say of them.

So perhaps that was the reason why he let Dominic shepherd him into the kitchen with a surprisingly minimal amount of fuss. Content for the moment to humour the man as he sat, watching as he bustled about like a masculine and somewhat sullen looking mother hen.

The man said remarkably little as he puttered around the kitchen, carrying on with the air of someone who was decidedly comfortable with his surroundings. Something which he found marginally surprising if one considered the fact that he was almost certain that the man had never stepped a foot in his kitchen in all the years he had known him.

Indeed, even as he watched as the man opened up his cabinets and cupboards. A determined look plastered across his handsome face as he brought down the small, dusty looking First Aid kit that he had forgotten he even _had_, he couldn't help the wry chuckle of amusement that issued from between his lips. In fact, given the amount of take out they both lived off of he was half surprised that the younger man knew his way around akitchen at all.

In short order the man had filled a shallow basin with steaming water and plunked it down on the table in front of him, throwing a clean cloth over his shoulder, and washing his hands briskly. Ignoring all his soft protests as he rolled up his shirt sleeves and moved towards him, a determined look firmly set across the span of his troubled features.

The man already had his hand soaking in the basin, the soft cloth and warm water already loosening the taunt skin as he poked through the ancient looking first aid kit, by the time he had a moment to shore up his wits and speak again.

"I can do this myself Dominic." He finally remarked, voice gentle, but tone edging on the being somewhat reproachful as he shifted with growing discomfort, the soft rub of his shorts brushing along the skin of his naked thighs suffusing him with an entirely different sort of heat then he was properly used to. The sensation making him realize, not for the first time since Dominic had appeared at his door, that he was still wandering around in his blooming bed clothes!

But the man only met his eyes overtop the basin as he worked, barely slowing the movements of the soft cloth as he sloughed off the dried blood, delicately cleaning around the ragged flesh that rimmed the edges of the wound as he continued on.

"I know Inspector." He replied simply, catching his gaze briefly before looking back down and continuing his ministrations. And after a long expectant moment, he let him. Nothing more was said on the matter between them after that. Not that he would have known what to say anyway…

_He'd never been good at this kind of thing.. Even before Norsefire…_

**Glossary:** Chapter Title is Latin for: "_Your fate is what you make."_

**A/N:** Please let me know what you think? Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! If you took time to read it, please tell me how you found it. This is how I go about improving my writing.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer:** I don't own V for Vendetta or any of its characters. Wishful thinking aside. See original chapter for a _complete set of disclaimers and other story related information._

**Warnings:**. This story is a few chapters away from completion, thus this chapter will contain a noticeable shift in content. (ie: more slash) So, if you have _somehow_ managed to make it this far without realizing that this is a slash story, and such content offends you, you might wanna swan off or risk being converted by the hawtness! Hee!

**Authors Note #1:** Please read and review. I am excited to see what you all think. I am open to comments, advice, and constructive criticism. This is my first V for Vendetta story so I am looking for constructive feedback.

**Words will Always Retain their Power **

_Chapter 6_ – _**"**_**Audaces fortuna iuvat** - _**-"**_

For a while it appeared as though he was being pointedly ignored. The man refused to meet his eyes, focusing solely on the task in front of him with a level of dogged determination that would have probably made him proud, save for the fact that _this_ time it was being used on _him_. And inappropriate thoughts or not, he knew that he would trade more then he would ever willingly admit, simply to coax a smile back onto the man face again.

But at the same time, he knew the man well enough by now to know that there was little ill will behind it. Dominic was merely frustrated. Indeed in of itself, the tic flexing along the dip that marked left side of the man's jaw stood out like a giant neon sign to his partners agitated state of mind.

_And the truth was, he wasn't faring much better.._

He took the hint however and remained silent, putting a lid on his questions and letting the man collect his scattered thoughts. Instead he watched Dominic work, distantly taking in the man's fluid movements as he ran his fingers along his skin, seemingly caressing the edges of the battered cuts as he cleaned. And as he sat back, mindless of way the edges of his seat were beginning to dig into the flesh of his upper thighs, he was inanely fascinated by the tumultuous nature of his own thoughts.

_He was a right mess and he knew it._

Trepidation, frustration, discomfort, irritation, confusion, and even a small twang of hope all strummed together in his tired breast. But as the silence stretched on, the hairs on the back of his neck began to rise as possibility after possibility cycled through his tired brain, confused and unwelcome.

_Was what Dominic had come to say that terrible? Or- Oh Christ…Did he know? He hadn't even considered that till now._ _Bloody fucking hell! What if he __**did **__know? What if he was leaving because of it? What if he-_

He was rescued from the depths of his growingly fatalistic thoughts just then however, when Dominic wiped a swab of antiseptic clear across the span of the open wound. _Shit._ It hurt more then it probably should have, more then he had expected at any rate_._ And he couldn't help but curse beneath his breath as the painful sting pierced through his muddled thoughts. Nose twitching violently as the sharp, acidic tang of the medicinal brew offended his senses. He might have even reared back, the sudden pain made unexpected and jarring with his distraction, save for the fact that Dominic still had the span of his ruined fist gathered firmly in his gentle, but insistent grip.

"Sorry, sorry.." Dominic murmured. His partner's fingers noticeably tensing around the offending cotton swab as his uninjured fist clenched, scrabbling against the table top as he fought to control the pained grunt that threatened to fly from his lips. The lines of the man's mouth dipped downwards as he readjusted his stance, still hunched over the table between them, straining awkwardly to reach him as he began daubing at the area again. Only this time the motion was feather light and timid, coming across more like a gesture of good will, despite the continued absence of words, then anything else.

He couldn't help but inhale as the man leaned in. Dominic smelled like starched collars and the rain, with the weak, almost untraceable scent of day old aftershave and faded sweat still lingering around the base of his neck, flirting with his nape in an enticing mixture. _It was Dominic, pure and simple. Familiar yet explosively erotic in it's own daft little way.._

Though he had to admit, grudging school boy infatuation aside, they were smells that now mingled strangely with the tart, barely discernable tang of cordite and charred metal that had buried deep into the mans clothes, indication in itself of just where his partner had spent the waning hours of the fifth. It was a scent that he remained decidedly uncertain about. It was unfamiliar and new despite its connotations. And he wondered vaguely if he'd ever get used to it.

_It could not be denied however that the man smelt __**alive**__….All but thrumming with a calibre of sensation that he swore would be the end of him. He was getting too damned old for this type of adolescent tomfoolery!_

The awkward silence returned as Dominic began finishing up. Bandaging the wound with an over indulgent amount of fuss that he tolerated for a few needless moments before he raised a pointed eyebrow and slowly pulled away. He needed a level head for this. _Control._

Rising from his chair, he pointedly ignored the obscene sucking noise that came when the warm flesh of his inner thigh stuck to the surface of the plastic covered chair, ignoring his discomfort as he flexed his fist under the snug bandage. Testing it's give until he was completely satisfied that it wouldn't hinder his mobility any more then was needed; he shifted in place, looking the man straight in the eye before speaking.

"What is all this about then Dominic?"

The man didn't answer right away. Instead he straightened slowly, pushing the basin and kit to one side before threading his hands in his braces and leaning back in his chair. His expression decidedly closed off, visibly mulling over his words before speaking them aloud.

"..Look…" He began, the word coming out choppy and tentative. It was so unlike Dominic that the word in itself was enough to give him pause, tension building in the base of his shoulders at the awkward absence of words. _This wasn't like Dominic. Not for a man to whom words had always flowed easily and uninhibited. _The mere thought sent his discomfort soaring. _This just wasn't right.._

"..A while back, before all of this.." The man continued. An expressive arm flung wide, gesturing across the room as if to encompass everything that had happened in the past twenty four hours in his point.

"You once asked me to listen, you said you didn't care if I answered or not, but that you needed to say it…_You needed to get it out_. To make it real I suppose. I want to ask that of you now. No strings, no obligations or expectations. I just need to you to _listen_." Dominic finished, peering out at him from behind long lashes, his normally expressive hazel eyes going worrisomely shuttered.

He swallowed hard, sensing the importance that lingered just underneath the surface of the man's words. Part of him wanted to shout at the man to just be out with it already, the suspense all but killing him. Another wanted to send the man out the door without another word, frightened of the consequences if he let the man have his say. While another part, far more dominant then the rest stood frozen. Not having the first clue as to what to do. And in the end, that option seemed to win out, because after a long, jagged beat he fixed the man with a piercing look before he finally nodded, stomach roiling uncomfortably.

"..Of course Dominic." He finally replied. Refusing to acknowledge the sudden chill that pervaded the thin nature of his bed clothes, winding up from his bare feet to prickle up along his calves, not to subtly reminding him that boxer shorts were not exactly appropriate attire outside of the comforts of ones bed.

"Look." The man began again, his tone almost apologetic as he ran a hand through his hair in visible frustration. "With all that had happened I just need to get this out." Dominic continued, blowing out a long breath as he angled his head back towards him. Almost missing the last part entirely when the man's low, barely discernable voice added, "And damn the consequences."

He forced himself to hold still, absorbing the heady chill from the kitchen floor. Pathetically grateful for the small distraction the sensation provided. Because despite the severity of the moment, he couldn't help but hearken back to the contents of Valerie's letter, and how ridiculously similar they both sounded with the utterance of that small, rather unassuming little phrase.

_A sudden flash of color fitted across his minds eye as a half formed scene convalesced in the backdrop, all tempered darkness and smooth corners. And for a long moment, he wondered what Ruth might have looked like.._

"When I graduated from the Academy I had my_ choice_ of positions. You know I was even offered a position in the Finger.. Not that I would have ever taken it mind you." He added hurriedly, nose wrinkling perceptively as he spoke, as if he had smelt something particularly offensive. _The Finger generally provoked that kind of reaction in everyone. As if there was something invariably filthy about the word itself.._

"But despite that… Bleedin' hell Inspector, I mean you _had _to wonder why I stayed? Why year after year with no chance of promotion.. Out of all the other positions I was offered, that I insisted on staying here. _With you_?" The man said, face imploring.

…_Ah.._

When he didn't immediately respond, the man continued, his words gaining momentum until it was akin to witnessing a train wreck. Awkward and suspenseful, and your half convinced you should look away, if only for proprieties sake, but you never quite manage it.

"At first I didn't know what to make of you. You were so full of contradiction. A party member for twenty seven years, but you weren't like them, even with all the party meetings and tosh, you didn't play their games. You didn't..well let's face it Inspector, you never seemed to buy into it.." The man remarked frankly, pausing for moment to collect his thoughts before pressing on, apparently oblivious to the emotional carnage his words were wrecking.

"You always seemed to care about the truth. About justice and morality no matter how screwed up things were. _You weren't like them_." He repeated, turning to stare at him, his gaze piercing, yet not unkind.

But he flinched unbidden as the truth of the statement hit him like a head on collision. He had never considered how his actions might have looked in the eyes of another, having been far to preoccupied at the time with maintaining the delicate balance between the law and the party order. Brooding over all the things he could no longer do, all the injustices and crimes being committed under the false names of freedom and national security. Haunted all the while by the pleading cries and silent, accusing faces of all the people that he _couldn't_ save.

"Your point Dominic?" He replied gruffly, pushing the feelings down severely as he struggled to absorb the sheer depth of what the man was saying. _This wasn't what he had expected. _And even then, what had he ever done to deserve such unswerving faith and loyalty? He had only ever done his job. And after Norsefire, more often then not, he couldn't even do that properly. Not with the likes of Sulter and Creedy in charge at any rate.

Though it was all empty thoughts and observations in the end, because as undeserved as such convictions were, the fact that Dominic believed them was cause enough for a surge of warmth to flood through him. _Like that first cup of coffee on a particularly loathsome morning.._

But the man only stared at him incredulously, like he had _entirely_ missed the point he had been trying to get across, making a frustrated noise in the back of his throat when he let the silence speak in his stead.

The man broke away from his seat in favour of pacing, not even seeming to notice when the towel still slung over his shoulder slipped to the floor. Pooling in gentle cotton waves across the light blue kitchen tiles until it was kicked away by his carelessly pacing feet.

"Things just got so bollucked up." The man muttered, turning away abruptly as a clenched fist came up to rest against the side of the refrigerator, his breathing audible despite the widening distance between them, coming out harsh and far too loud in the close space. And while he didn't know exactly what the man had meant by the words, he could certainly guess.

"It is just with everything that has happened I refuse to believe that I cannot have _this_. I refuse to believe in that lie anymore! That love is _subjective_. That it has _limits_, that it can be _wrong_. Because it bloody well isn't. _It's can't be." _The man stated, whirling back around to face him, his hands going wild and expressive as they gestured through the air once again.

"And you know what Inspector? I refuse to let myself miss _this_ chance. For better or for worse..I have wasted far too much time waiting already." The man all but spat, an expression of determination suddenly shifting across his features, as if he had only just came to some sort of decision inside himself.

He couldn't help but gape at him; half convinced that one of them had gone entirely around the bend, just not entirely sure which of them it was. _It was rather hard to tell given the circumstances.._

He swallowed thickly, taking an aborted step forward, angling towards the man before his limbed seized again, forced into a sort of agitated stillness as his mind went traitorously blank. _What could he say? What did the man mean by-…_

The moment had dragged on for far too long already. He could feel it like a pressure building in his chest, squeezing down like a vice until it hindered his very breath. It felt as though it had been stretching on, breathless and full, not for minutes or hours, but for _decades. _

_It couldn't go on. It had to stop. Only he didn't know how._

The laws of physics claim that any object, if placed under due force and duress for an allotted period of time must eventually give, buckling under the pressure of the superior force as the laws of gravity and force so proclaim. Ironically psychologists say something remarkably similar about the constructs of the human mind. Much the same way as lovers do when faced with the limitations and inherent failings of the human heart.

_In the end it was always the same. Something had to give._

In his youth, back when such forward thinking things were still being actively published, he had read an article, the title and author long since forgotten, that had detailed how a person will generally have one moment of absolute, defining clarity in their lifetime. This is a moment that goes beyond a simple epiphany and instead explodes out of the realm of ones conscious and unconscious thoughts, laying to waste all foundations, and self made barriers built to stand in it stead. Growing until it is a force that can either consume everything you are, everything that you define yourself as. Or it can be captured, taken inside, moulded and _used,_ to the benefit of its recipient.

He knew instinctively that _this_ was that one defining moment. _The only one he would ever have. _Because as defining as the juncture had been, it _hadn't_ been that moment in his office, confronted by the damning evidence of the governments crimes, anymore then it had been the moment where he had lowered his gun, muzzle angling down towards the worn concrete, the faded color standing out remarkably stark against the violent wash of color streaming out from the subway car, knowingly letting the world change.

Because that moment was now. _He could feel it._

.. _Dominic._

The answer was right there, within his reach. So close, closer then it had ever been before and yet for some reason he was still frozen. _Useless._ Unable to bring himself to move past that first insurmountable step.

_But perhaps in the end that step wasn't really __**his **__to take. Not alone at least._ Because it appeared as though unlike himself, Dominic had no such qualms, least not anymore.

In retrospect he realized sometime later that he had actually seen it happen, the moment where the decision had been made, where caution and doubt were thrown to the wind in favour of the gift they had all been given in the dying hours of the fifth. _Hope. _

_A second chance.._

The man had just completed a blistering, harried circuit around the kitchenette, feet stomping audibly against the tiles like a nervous race horse pressing against the starting gate. It wasn't until the man was halfway between the oven and the pantry door that he caught his gaze, face twisting, desperate and hopeful all at once before the floodgates _finally_ tore open.

Because before he could even internalize the movement, Dominic was already snapping forward, the action sharp and almost faster then the eye could follow, like the moment a tautly pulled elastic band is released.

"Oh bugger it!" The man exclaimed, lurching forward. Knocking a chair askew as he arrowed towards him, a streak of charcoal black suit tails and ruddy skin set against the soft, but growing light of the morning. And if he had had the presence of mind to analyze it, he might have realized that he _knew_ that tone. It was the tone of voice that rang out just before the man was about to do something inexplicable stupid, dangerous, or possibility even both at the same time.

Unsure of what was coming he didn't even have a chance to put his hands up. Because before he could react the man was all over him, breaching the last few inches left between them. Fingers scrabbling across his skin, inadvertently raking across his chest as the man's hand sought purchase against the thin fabric of his t-shirt. The action pulling a strangled grunt of pleasure through his clenched teeth, his nerve endings singing from the feel of blunt nails scoring across his skin, unable to help himself when the coarse, base sound echoed in the thickening air.

_And then, almost like an after thought, gunpowder and napalm sizzled across his lips. _

…_Oh._

The man kissed like a last chance. He didn't know any other way of describing it then that. But it was all moot point in the end anyway. Because all he knew was…_Yes. God yes. _

_He felt like he had just run twenty miles. Either that or he was slowly having a stroke. It was hard to tell._

And for one heart stopping moment it didn't even matter that the man had entirely missed his lips. Instead delivering a sloppy, chaste little kiss somewhere slightly off center of his lips, flirting around the very edge of his jawbone before the man pulled away, his lips slowly sliding along his skin, sparking down the length of his stubble strewn cheek as he fell away.

The man had retreated only minutely by the time his brain had a chance to catch up. Standing sheepish, flushed with embarrassment, and perhaps even pleasure a few steps away. With the sudden absence of his presence, as frenetic and short lived as it had been, somehow felt akin to a loss.

The man's lower lip was pinned brutally between his teeth, worrying the reddened flesh in a way that _had_ to be painful. His hazel eyes made dark with a level of tension that he could practically _feel_, vaporous and heady in the air between them.

And yet, in spite of it all, the man's chin was up, defiant and strong, as if daring him to say something. _Anything_. _Daring him to say that this hadn't been what he had wanted all along._ And he felt remarkably as though if he hadn't been taken with the man already, that that sight alone could have been enough to do it all over again. _God. Dominic.._

_Concentrating on remembering how to breathe had never seemed more difficult._

His tongue darted out to chase the sweat beginning to bead along the edges of his lips, the silence stretching again, infinite, yet false in its perceived longevity. _Because regardless of the outcome, this ended now_.

"Dominic..I-" He broke off, words trailing off half formed and mangled when he realized that he had no idea how to express his thoughts. He didn't know how he could say that he didn't know if he _could_ do this. That he didn't know if he _should. _

"I know…trust me. _I know_." The man murmured. And somewhere in between the words and the action he must have missed when the man moved, because suddenly there were fingers trailing down his shoulder blade, the movement gentled with a soft flurry of touch. Fabric hushing against fabric, too soft to be label as even a tentative grind.._at least not yet, _even as the intimate press of fingers pebbled across the collar of his shirt, just skimming the barrier of where cloth met skin.

..And weirdly enough, he believed that Dominic did.

There was a line etched across the lower part of Dominic's chin. It was a creased pressure line that unlike the others that had littered his face when he arrived, nervous and jittery on his front porch, being deeper and far more prominent had yet to fade. He knew without asking that it was the outlining edge of the same Fauxian mask that every single member of the police detachment had been ordered to hand over as evidence mere hours after they were first delivered. And he couldn't help but wonder, the thought seeming rather absurd and inappropriate considering the circumstances, if Dominic had already stashed _his_ in the backseat of the car as he drove him to the Underground, or if he had doubled back to the office to grab it afterwards, driving part of the way to Parliament in order to catch up with the marching hordes.

And with more deliberation then he could ever remember rendering on such a simple thing, he let his hand rise from where it had been hanging loose and indecisive by his side. The effort of the motion was unimaginable as he let the fingers of his gauze bound palm trace carefully along that edge, following the line as it curved up the man's chin and cheeks, until it reached the height of his eyes and disappeared into the thickness of his hairline altogether.

It was intimately shocking what he could discern from touch alone. He could feel every arch, every angle, dip, and subtle imperfection as his fingers skimmed the outline of the man's face. He could feel the tingling rasp of stubble as it scorched across the lightly calloused pads of his fingers. Hell, even the thin, long healed nicks of a few decades worth of razor cuts that pebbled across the mans chin and upper neck were made tangible, making the course of his exploration jarring as his fingers mapped the sudden switch between harsh stubble and smooth, paper thin scars. He could even feel the tension vibrating up through the muscles in his partners face, tendons and sinews flexing in response to his touch.

_And his fingers only grew bolder._ _Greedy_..._Learning_ _as they went._

But perhaps what was more telling was when the line stopped, melding into the relative obscurity of the man's thick brown hair, and his fingers had no where left to go, his hand did not leave the mans face. Instead they continued, his fingers skidding through a patch of sweat gathering at the man's temples, fingers suddenly slick against the man's skin.

He wasn't sure which of them made that small, barely perceptible noise in response, the sensation as heated as it had been unexpected. _Maybe both of them._

But he shushed the man regardless. Pressing a thick, crooked finger against the man's dry, wind chapped lips. Fearing that if either one of them made a sound now, the moment would be broken and they would fall back into the same absurd, painfully awkward holding pattern they had been stuck in before. _One with a distinct lack of any actual 'holding' if he was being honest.._

His fingers paused as they alighted across the span of the man's lips. As if considering. And he actually _felt_ the moment where Dominic stopped breathing, expelling his last lungful of air sharply through his nose as his eyes locked on his face. And this time he met them, refusing to look away. His fingers felt light, yet somehow steady against the yielding surface of the mans lips, Dominic's tongue peeking out the slightest of millimetres, as if not quite daring to dart out, and lave against the calloused pads of his finger tips. He shivered violently as the man's tongue made another bold, yet, aborted move, skirting around the very edge of his lips, so close that he could feel the eddies of disturbed air as they unfurled against his skin.

.._He_ _wondered suddenly if the man would taste like charred gunpowder and flash burned fuses. The taste of change…Or would he simply taste as he properly should, of the man he had know for over six years. Dominic... _

They stayed the way for some time. The space between them filled only with the sound of their harsh, trepidation tempered breathing as it echoed out far too loud admist the half lit darkness of his small kitchenette.

_That was when it happened.._

That was the moment when he realized he was tired of waiting. Tired of being too much of a coward to try for what he bloody well wanted. Tired of the nameless bodies washing up along the moors or found half buried miles past the quarantine zone, tired of the government, all the petty hatred, bigotry and fear. But most of all, he was tired of the mockery of a life he had forced himself into living. He was tired of the compromise he had made.

An abstemious compromise that went against everything he was, everything he believed, simply for the small comfort of holding down a steady job and keeping the shell he had the gall to call a life!

.._Well, he had finally had enough. _And the recognition of that determination was as burning as taking a clip of mace in the face. Perhaps it was time to succumb.. To peel away that last barrier of fear and insecurity, to take that chance and for once leave everything bare. _To leave himself accessable..vunerable for the sake of that chance. That hope.._

The thought in itself felt far more like relief then he was comfortable with, but he decided that he meant it all the same. It was the feeling that mattered_. The decision._

And after a long moment, feeling far more exposed..far more _defenceless_ then he could ever remember feeling in his entire _bloody_ life, he took a step forward.. And then _another_. And _another _until he had the man crowded against the wall. Until he was so close to Dominic's face that all he could see out of the corner of his eye was the shell-shocked whites of the man's eyes going round and full, mouth moving silently, words failing them both.

In the end he still didn't know where the courage had come from. Because even as he felt something fundamental and expansive within himself shatter, he cast everything else side. All of his doubts, all of his fears, every needless inch of himself until _**he **_was all that was left. Stripped bare of everything save for the very core of him. Until he was blind to all else but the sight of Dominic standing, edgy and defiant a mere few feet away from him

And he'd be damned if he didn't yard the man right back into his arms. Kissing him soundly as he_ finally _dug his fingers into the man's meticulously parted hair_ just_ like he had always wanted too, the scent of singed dynamite and charred ozone blasting through the air between them. Thick and intoxicatingly heavy in much the same way as when the air holds still, anticipatory and charged in the final seconds before the first lightening strike of spring.

_Ferocious, yet unexpectedly welcome._

**Glossary:** Chapter Title is Latin for: "_Fortune favours the bold.."_

**A/N:** Please let me know what you think? Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! If you took time to read it, please let me know your thoughts. This is how I go about improving my writing.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer:** I don't own V for Vendetta or any of its characters. Please see original chapter for a _complete set of disclaimers and other story related information._

**Warnings:** Slash ahoy. Like for serious this time people. (Minor swearing).

**Authors Note #1:** Please read and review. I am excited to see what you think. I am open to comments, advice, and constructive criticism. This is my first V for Vendetta story so I am looking for constructive feedback. Also, if my google-fu is correct, this might actually be the first ever instance of Finch/Dominic 'porn' on the _whole_ internet. I am not sure if this means I am an explorer pushing the limitations of this fandom into new, uncharted territory, or if I am just sullying it's virtue with smut. Perhaps both?

***This chapter is dedicated to **_**Crocodile_Eat_U**_**. Because without her timely little blurb on LJ, this chapter, and indeed story might never have been resumed! You rock. Again.**

**Words will Always Retain their Power **

_Chapter 7_– "**Ad vitam…"**

The man made a strangled noise in the back of his throat as he kissed him. He wasn't sure what that meant, but he didn't stop. _He couldn't_. Instead he threw every inch of what he felt, everything he had ever wanted and hoped for into that one single gesture, his feelings for the first time in over twenty seven years, completely and unapologetically uncensored.

The world was shifting on its axis again. Explosive and jarring like the unexpected back start of a failing car. _He had already lost count of how many times that had happened in the last twenty four hours..in the last __**year.**_

_He was getting too damn old for this pish.._

He almost didn't notice when his fingers dug deep into the meat of the man's shoulders, pulling out a sound that _could_ have been considered pain if it hadn't been for the fact that a moment later, the man mirrored the gesture. And he groaned as the red hot pin-pricks zipped down his already overly sensitized skin as Dominic's blunt, immaculately trimmed nails bit into the hollow where his neck met shoulder.

He felt remarkably as though that pressure was the only thing keeping him grounded. And that without it he would be flung off into nothingness, unable to cope, adrift.. _Wandering listless, empty, and alone in a world that he no longer fully understood.. _

The sensation of his hands, now roving eagerly along the rolling canvas of Dominic's skin, pausing to palm a hip, before spidering restlessly down the length of the man's side, felt almost cathartic.._right_..

.._Like_ _it had been_ a _long time coming.._

He had never expected this, nor dreamed it could even be a possibility. And yet here they were, on the fifth of November, standing admist the scattered remnants of a government that had been reclaimed by the insurmountable might of a united nation. A unity that had been hard won and wrought through nearly three decades of pain and suffering, but a unity nonetheless. And like shuttered curtains sweeping aside to reveal the light of a new day, here they stood. The last barriers left between them now shattered and forgotten in the power of freedoms wake. As all the lies, all the deceits, uncertainties, and increasingly weak reasons as to why they _couldn't_ died with it. _Leaving only __**them**__ and the vast, unknowable horizon spanning out in front of them that was the future._

As light and as accidental as it was, the enticing friction of Dominic's trousers rubbing against the thin fabric of his boxers was almost too much. It was an innocent, and entirely unintended action until.._quite suddenly_, it **wasn't** anymore, turning measured and deliberate as the man noticed. A sly, reldiciously boyish expression flushing across Dominic's face he caught his eye, lips tugging upwards in a good natured smirk as he ground against him again. _Only this time, with intent._

He might have gasped as shock and pleasure mixed together. The sound almost impossible to hear over the heady thrum of his pulse echoing out between his temples as the sensation began building again. _Freedom, he was beginning to realise, was more addictive then any drug.._

He arched against empty air, straining momentarily against the laws of gravity as the mans hips ground down on his own, frenetic and fast until the movements had devolved into a hot, chaffing slide that bunched up the fabric of his shorts and exposed him to the cool morning air. His eyes scrunched momentarily as he fought for control, hands flinging into the air behind him, searching in vain for something.._anything_ to prop up against, feeling keenly as though his knees were going to give way at any second. Half terrified that if he didn't the whole thing would be over before it had even started.

His back hit the edge of the kitchen counter with a grating twinge, letting out a pained hiss as Dominic's lips pressing against his pulse point. Teeth grazing his Adam's apple in a way that made him think about the bite of Kevlar. Of the way stray bullets bruised protected flesh, slamming home with a percussive rush, leaving the body underneath unharmed, but the impact being enough to take ones breath away.

He couldn't help but watch, wide eyed and disbelieving as the man's hands fluttered closer, trailing down the length of his sides before pausing on the muscled curve of his hip, fingers teasing against the waistband of his shorts before tracing the line as it spanned across his navel, stretching from hip to hip. And vaguely, in a heady, disconnected sort of way, he wondered where all the air in the room had gone..

He closed his eyes, tipping his head to the ceiling as he breathed out in a series of harsh, wanton pants that might have embarrassed him if he could have summoned up the will power and moral fortitude to give a damn.

_..A pipe dream at this point if he had ever heard one.. Though he supposed he was slightly bias.._

To his credit the man went slowly, his movements cautious and measured. Deliberately paced and soothing until they were almost ethereal in nature, as though he were dealing with a skittish mutt or a chemical that could possibly be combustible rather then a mature, fully grown man. With one hand sliding up, fingers trailing up his sides again until they landed on his shoulders, fingers curling into the dips and arches of the shoulder blades like puzzle pieces clicking home.

Even now he could appreciate the man's restraint, recognizing the subtle tremor vibrating up from his tensely held shoulders, as energy and barely checked emotions radiated just under the skin. _Tight. Careful. Desperate. _Because in the end he knew Dominic, and in that way, he knew what that kind of resolve really cost him. As for all the ways that Dominic was much like himself, mirroring his viewpoints and theories, and subscribing to his rather antiquated way of doing things,_ patience_ had never been Dominic's strong suit.

'_An inherent character flaw of the younger generation.' He mused offhandedly, mirth bubbling up from the pit of his stomach like arousal. He held it in, barely._

The lips returned then, hesitant, soft, and brimming with purpose as they skimmed along the span of his cheek, inching across the coarse stubble towards his lips. And he felt a hot flush simmer up from the line of his collar as Dominic's eyes reflected back at him, heated with promise, uncertainty, and that same stubborn headed determination that they both seemed to share as the distance between them closed.

_Three inches…_

His feet were still bare. And for some reason he felt oddly aware of that fact even as he dug his toes into the carpeting, mindless of the abrasive burn as they curled into the springy fabric. He felt akin to a boat trying in vain to anchor itself on rough, uncertain shores, a vicious tempest squall threatening just beyond the horizon. _Panicked, yet anticipatory.._

_Two inches…_

He was the sort of person who more often then not, kept his eyes open during a kiss. Indeed in the past, his lovers had occasionally gone as far as to even comment on it, telling him it was strange, odd, and sometimes even a bit _dodgy. _But he couldn't help it. In fact, it had gotten to the point where he half wondered if he wasn't going about the whole business the wrong way in the first place.

..Though, how one could fail in such a way after nearly four consecutive decades of admittedly sporadic physical intimacy was entirely beyond him. He might be closeted, but that certainly didn't mean he was deliberately obtuse. _Or untalented for that matter.._

_One.._

Only _now, __**now**_he finally knew the reason why. Because this time as Dominic's lips brushed tentatively against his own, his eyes fluttered_ shut_. Long lashes fanning out across the darkened hollows that spanned the skin underneath his eyes as trickling warmth settled in the pit of his belly. _Molten and rich._

_Apparently he had just been kissing the wrong people all along._

The kiss was imperfect, with more teeth then he was used to, and the dry catch of cracked lips scraping indelicately against his own. Yet despite that the action sent electricity thrumming down his spine in a way he had never before experienced. Because this was _real_ and it was _now_. The inherent imperfections of it saw to that. And in that way, and that way alone, it was probably the most _perfect_ kiss of his entire bleeding life.

His throat felt like the Sahara as Dominic's lips slipped from his, and he couldn't help the indulgence this time as he leaned forward, resting his forehead against Dominic's for an ageless moment. _Breathing it in_.

He knew he wasn't good at this, at intimacy, at expressing _himself._. He had never been, even _before _Norsefire. He supposed that he had always been just a bit too closeted, too aware of what he stood to lose if he revealed that part of himself to the wrong person. _To anyone._ Indeed, even from a young age he had always internalized more then he had ever expressed. Everything, even down to the very words he spoke were always carefully selected and mulled over before they were voiced.

Only Dominic didn't seem to notice, or perhaps he didn't even care because a second kiss followed the first, and it was even better. And the tentative, careful space that his hip fitting together with his own as if he had been _made_ to do just that.

He lost track of when they had moved out of the kitchen, too caught up in the feeling as one long fingered hand trailed brazenly down the nape of his neck, brushing through the ends of his shaggy black hair as Dominic's mouth dipped down to meet his again. Indeed, the man seemed bound and determined to devour him, or give him heart failure, he couldn't quite scrape together the brain cells to figure out which. _Shit._ _This might just kill him after all.._

_Well fuck it then._

He had already anticipated the movement when Dominic pushed forward again. His palms firm against the man's shoulders as he used the thick, deeply corded muscles that stretched from thigh to shoulder, remnants of his days rough housing in the training rings down in the Academy basements, to hold the man in place. He changed his stance in mid-motion so that the man's weight thudded solidly across the span of his chest, the manoeuvre executed deliberately so that the man was now off balance.

_Turn about was fair play after all._

The action brought them flush together. This time with the man's weight falling across him, sending them both careening into the opposite wall. Unable to help the strangled groan that flew from his lips as the warm, and very obvious heat of the man's erection brushed against his own as he pressed the younger man into the corner.

He squeezed his eyes shut. _God, they weren't even undressed yet._

Dominic's eyes fluttered, a cut off exclamation leaving his raw, over bitten lips as he tipped his chin up, gifting him with an unexpected, but appreciative nip on the lip for his efforts. As one leg rose up from where boot soles had been firmly planted on the floor beside his, Dominic's knee coming up to rub against the naked skin of his inner thigh with a bold, and decisive pass of thigh against thigh.

_..He barely kept himself from startling backwards, gaze drawn downward, like Dominic's, to matters considerably more..below the waist.._

The fabric of his boxers had been long since tented with his interest, standing out in a way that would have been embarrassing, and slightly ridiculous if this had been any other time. _But it wasn't. _So instead, all he could _do_, all he could _think, _was _please, yes _and _more. _Indeed he couldn't even recall the last time he had been so utterly and devastatingly aroused.

In reality it wasn't hard to imagine why, as when one added together the existence of the party, taking into consideration the inherent dangers of living and operating in a nation ruled over by a virtual dictatorship, and the exhaustion of working a job in the public sector with bad pay and even worse hours… _Well_, the end result was all but visceral, moulding itself into a decaying, avarice ridden monster that eventually sapped away the strength and where withal of almost any passing fantasy until it was reduced to the crude, strippingly efficient working of his hand against his member. _Forced detachment._ Seeking only release, not the feelings. _Never the feelings.._

He felt Dominic push forward again; propelling himself up from the hallway corner and settling against him in a way that put his teeth on edge. His fingers tightened around the man's rumpled collar, ignoring the way the fabric creaked. The expensive thread count stretching warningly underneath his aching fingers as he fought against the trailing edges of sensual incoherency.

_His sense of control understandably fraying a titch around the edges.._

He made a noise that came out sounding suspiciously similar to a whine as the man ground his hips down again, surging up against him insistently. The sound rumbling up from the back of his throat like a purr, deep and throaty despite the inherent ragged quality of the tone as he abandoned rationality and thrusted back.

_He swallowed thickly._

He had never been one that was into anything of the rough sort, even when behind the relative safety of a closed bedroom door and the discreet assurances of a like minded partner; 'exciting' sex had always been something that hinged so close to 'vanilla' that the distinction between them was practically meaningless. But now.. _Bloody hell, _now he wanted it _all._

God help him, but he wanted to scrape his nails across Dominic's scalp just to _hear_ the surprised whimper he was _sure_ such an action would produce. .._Dominic was so tactile after all._

He wanted to turn around and shove the man into the wall, upsetting the artistically deferent pictures he had painstakingly framed and put up to replace the pictures of his past, the memories of his life before Norsefire, before there were black bags, quarantine zones, and broken homes, and sink his teeth into the younger man's neck. He wanted to leave marks. _His marks_. So far up the line of Dominic's collar that when they went to work the next day.._if they went at all.._ no one would be able to mistake those marks for anything other then what they were. _Possession. His._

_.. Always his.._

His brain greyed out at the thought, only coming back to awareness when he found himself surging forward, pinning the man against the wall with a vicious thrust. His teeth sinking into the cords of the man's neck as Dominic let loose a surprised, but undeniably pleasured yowl, fingers curling into the collar of his thin t-shirt and_ pulling_ as his partner forgot himself entirely. The unbridled and strangely instinctive action sent heat coiling in his lower belly, joining the mass of roiling, simmering arousal until he couldn't help but rock forward, unconsciously rubbing his erection against the crease of the mans trouser leg as he licked his way past Dominic's pleasure slackened lips.

_Bloody fucking hell.._

And before he could think the action through, his fingers were tangling in the loops of the man's trousers, the jingle of Dominic's belt echoing out startlingly loud as he yanked it free from the mans waist in one compulsive movement. Even the sting of leather biting into the calloused thickness of his palms did remarkably little to steady him, because now, in the wake of everything, he found that he was quite uncharacteristically impatient.

He wanted _this._. _God.._

Dominic blew out a sudden, explosive breath. Like he had been sucker punched in the gut as he wrapped his hand around him, fingers curling around velvet steel that was already jerking and trembling even as he formed a tight fist around him. He swallowed the sound, tongue rimming the edge of Dominic's lips as he began to stroke, gratified when the action caused the man to buck into his touch, biting his lip hard, as if in an effort to muffle the sound.

.._No he didn't want that. _

"Don't." He said quickly, using the moment adjust his hold, pushing the man sharply against the corner just abreast of the hallway table, keys and unopened mail breezing to the floor in a confused clatter as Dominic's hip clipped the side of it.

"Inspector…what? He gasped; eyes fluttering open, rimmed with alarm, only to slam closed a moment later, hazel eyes shuttering as his thick fingers curled around the man's burgeoning interest with renewed vigour.

"No Dominic. I want to _hear_ it." He murmured, mashing his lips against the crook of the mans neck, unable to help himself when he nipped at the base, teeth sliding along the sweat slick skin, almost desperate for the sounds that came vibrating out a moment later.

Even then he could hardly believe that such blatant, unmistakably heated words were falling from his lips. But once started he found that he couldn't stop. Instead he found himself gratified beyond measure as he pulled a half stifled grunt from the man as he snaked his hand up the mans shirt and circled the outline of his nipple on pure impulse. A burst of daring jolting through him with a dizzying sort of strength that he hadn't properly felt in god only knows how long..

_He had had enough of living in silence._

He was rewarded when the man whimpered prettily, eyes blown wide as he stared back at him. Pupils stretched until only a sliver of the color was still visible, the hue itself darkening even further as the man tried to lurch forward again, held down by sheer force on his part as Dominic's fingers raked through his mess of black curls.

_And he swore that the man did __**that**__ on purpose.. Christ on a crutch! This was going to be the death of him!_

"_Inspector..I..Oh Christ." _The man groaned, head hitting the wall with a painful sounding thud as he pushed the man impossibly backwards, fingers nicking back to trail teasingly down his perineum, fingers tugging gently at his balls before curling back around the mans length, fingers slick around the head with the mans pre-cum. A moan of his own echoing out to join his partners when he looked down, watching as his hand continued to stroke, the other fisted in the mans hip, keeping them grounded at the man bucked.

Vaguely he heard a clatter and then a thud somewhere off to his right, but he ignored it. Because just then the hand not still clutching him around collar arrowed out to slam spasmodically against the wall beside them, uncontrolled and magnificent as Dominic lost whatever reserves he had been holding onto and rutted against him. He might have heard one of the picture frames to their right shatter. _But it didn't matter. They were lies, this was truth._

He didn't even have the presence of mind to chide the man for falling back to using his title either. It was familiar and exciting in a strange, if not rather perverse way. And he had the sneaking suspicion that he could quickly get used to it, if provided with the opportunity…_ And blimey, wasn't that just a thought?_

Eager to hear that sound again he stroked firmly, delighting in the honest, enticing groan he pulled from Dominic's lips as the man thrust forward, suddenly seeming as though he had five hands as Dominic pushed against him, fingers digging into his hair and tugging at his shirt, the fabric audibly tearing around the armpits as the younger man grew more and more insistent.

Blunt nails dug into his shoulders as they lost their balance and thudded against the opposite wall. The mans trousers, still caught up around his hips, fell to the ankles, hindering Dominic's movements to capitulate as he continued to stroke firmly, feeling himself tighten in response as the man moaned, his messy brown hair pitching forward in strange gel slicked clumps as Dominic tried his best to arch back into him. Lips mashing against his own in a maddening burst of short lived pleasure as the man did his best to give as well as he received.

…_He was going to have a bloody heart attack._

When the man came, he wasn't sure who was more surprised. _Himself or Dominic._ The unexpected force of it was akin to a physical blow, with the man shouting out, lips wide, teeth bared, and chest sheened with sweat from where a few hastily undone buttons had parted to reveal a bold, if not sparsely haired chest. All clean lines and toned edges. In itself, it was a sight that was both new and familiar, as it had been one he had seen many times, often in the locker room as they showered and changed after a particular grimy crime scene. Where in which flashes of skin were inevitably gifted as layers were shed, caution falling by the wayside for a few insane moments when his eyes got lost somewhere in between watching his fingers undo his own buttons, and glancing over to see Dominic in his skivvies, tongue poking out in apparent effort as he stretched down to pull off his socks. Yet, at the same time _this_ was altogetherly new, because this was something that was now _his _in almost every way.

_Because now he was finally allowed. Allowed to have this..Dominic. Dominic wanted him to... _

The mans gun braces were digging painfully into his skin, and he was more then a little bit aware that the right side of his shirt had somehow become rucked up, catching along the crease of his hip until his bare skin was pressing against the cool metallic stock of Dominic's firearm. But he didn't move, one arm still pressed against the wall, keeping them both in place as Dominic panted, loud and blissed out in his ear.

_It was a sight to savour._

Something warm swelled in his chest at that, his bruised and admittedly battered ego perking as the man slumped further into him, muscles relaxing spasmodically as his orgasm coasted to a triumphant close. _He had done this to him. Him and no one else..Dominic had wanted him to-.._

He couldn't help but give the man one more squeeze for good measure, his fingers slick around the man's cock, still dripping with Dominic's release as he gentled him, one thumb growing bold and adventurous again as it petted Dominic's coarse, sable haired thigh, fingering the cease where thigh met groin almost disbelievingly.

It was only when he felt the mans legs solidify underneath him once again that he dared to relax, loosening his death grip on the wall as Dominic came down from his high. The man was still breathing hard, his eyes closed and head tipped back against the wall as he let his hand trail downward, the heightened nerves taking in the smooth chill of the wall at Dominic's back before they coasted down the planes of his face. Memorizing by touch, every curve, every dip and angle that he already knew better then his own by sight.

_..Christ..He had almost forgotten.._

His hands on Dominic's skin felt like revelry.._release_, and perhaps even _happiness_. The emotions were harder to identify then they would have been twenty-seven years ago. He tried not to let the truth of that injustice burn him. But so much had been taken from him, so many chances, so many years.. _Yet revenge had already been sought and justice had been doled out. V had seen to that, righting the wrongs of nearly three decades not just for himself, but for all of them.. Morbidly he almost wished he could have been there. He would have given much to see the look on Sulter and Creedy's dark, wizened faces when they realized that Madam Justice had finally caught up with them.._

_Better late then never he supposed.._

Dominic's cheek felt fever hot against the palm of his hand, pricking with the coarse hints of early morning stubble. _Utterly and undeniably real. _He grunted in anticipation, mind seizing as his hand drifting down unbidden to palm his own member through the thin cotton of his shorts. _Unable to help himself as his arousal mounted, surging against him even as Dominic's hips jerked in soft unconscious strokes to his movements, despite the fact that he was all but spent._

_He needed.. Just a little bit more…Oh-_

It took him a moment to realize that the sounds echoing in his ear, dipping low and thrumming in a heady base line tenor was actually that of the man's voice. He paused, mind grappling for understanding, momentarily distracted as the man's lips brushed against his ear, incomprehensible murmurs causing shivers to zip down his spine, molten and heated as he arched forward, limbs going slack and accommodating with unaccustomed pleasure as Dominic's fingers kneaded into his skin.

And that was all it took, because before he could gather the shredded remnants of rational thought, Dominic had pushed him backwards, kicking off his abandoned trousers as he went and crowding him along the length of the hall until it was _his _back that met with the wall, and a naked, colt-like leg was planted squarely between his own, pressing up against his groin with just enough pressure that it could be taken as a warning. _Boxing him in._

_Holy Chr-.._

He inhaled sharply when the man tugged at his boxers. The action somewhat anti-climatic when contrasted with his previous fumbling, tearing at the man's zippers, belt buckles, and buttons. As in his case there was only a single layer of fabric that stood between them. His lower lip somehow got caught in between his teeth, and he tasted bitter, copperish salt as it split against his canines. _Tense.._

Even then it was something of a surprise when it happened, his body and mind twitching with a sudden jerk, failing to startle backwards when Dominic's hand curled around him, fingers sparking almost painfully along his sensitive flesh despite the gentle touch, as the man held fast. Muscles flexing and pushing him firmly back into the wall as if he had anticipated his reaction. _There was no where to go.._

…_Oh_.

"Don't.." The word left his lips before he fully realized the conations of what he was asking. His mind stuttering with a sudden burst of fear as reality slammed down like the last bulkhead door on a sinking ship. Even to him the word sounded indecent and somewhat insincere as he stared down at where they were now joined. Stuck on the way the man was _still_ standing there, naked from the waist down, with his white shirt tails ghosting down along his navel in a trail that sported a length of dark brown hairs that came down to crown his soft, but growingly interested member, already twitching with an exuberance that was only possible with the young.

_Shit.._

He was teetering along the edge of the abyss. _The unknown._ Even voicing the exclamation had cost him dearly. _Stop? He'd rather face Creedy arse naked and unarmed in a dark alley in the slums of lower Brixton then stop now. _But this was real. This couldn't be taken back. This wasn't a late night fantasy or an erotic spectre conjured out of his depraved imagination. And when it was over he would have reality to face, and he simply didn't know if he could bear it if he woke up the next morning just in time to watch Dominic hurry out the door, throwing on his clothes and apologizing politely as he tossed words like "mistake" and "transfer" over his shoulder like empty bullet casings.

And the man must have understood, at least partly, because his movements slowed to an agonizing slide that was ironically _worse _then before, meeting his eyes in rush of heated hazel as the man stared back at him, his hand still slowly working along his length. The pace measured and seemingly almost _intentionally_ agonizing. Indicative of just how far gone he actually was.

The muscles in his jaw tensed as his bare feet pressed up against the man's boot soles, the action providing a strange contrast of texture between something that could yield, and something that could not. His mind was tripping confusedly over the details, eyes fixed on the man in front of him as Dominic made to speak.

"Let it go Eric..Let me…_Please_?" Dominic murmured, words make thick as the man took on a tone he had never heard before, his breath curling across his neck like a caress as the moment stretched.

And just like that, he was lost.

_He couldn't hold back after that. Not when Dominic wanted-.._

His word narrowed down to feeling of Dominic's softly calloused fingers wrapping around his length. And his brain stuttered as the slide became unexpectedly slick, _good. _**..Oh **_**god**_**.. Oh..**

'_The man was using his own release.'_ He realized suddenly, lashes fluttering at the thought as the man swiped his hands across his still slick palms. Words dying on his lips as their fingers tangled together for a long, lingering moment before the younger man pulled away again, running an _experimental_ hand along the thick, burgeoning length of his cock.

_..Wait...Experimental?_

He had about half a second to grapple with the previously unconsidered thought that Dominic may have never actually done this before, when all conscious thought abruptly curled up and died, his head thudding back against the wall so hard it hurt, unable to help himself as he thrust into the man's fist with a desperate and unabashedly wanton hike of his hips. So far gone that he didn't have the presence of mind to even so much as _wince _with embarrassment.

He made a sound that was all vowels as his eyes slammed shut. The sensation was too much after so many years of only his left hand and admittedly stunted imagination to assuage himself.

... _Christ, he wasn't going to last, not after-_

"_**Fuck.**_" He swore, the sound echoing through the empty hallway, his hips surging upwards as Dominic did something that _had_ to be illegal _somewhere_ as he twisted his hand part way up through an unexpected, downward stroke.

But the harsh explicative gained him only a decadent chuckle as the man breathed heatedly against his ear, a hand coming up to steady them as they began pitching sideways, something falling off the wall just out of his peripheral vision as the man hitched them both into the wall again, rubbing up against him urgently as he murmured a rich, and decidedly sensual promise in his ear.

"…_Later.."_

The world exploded into a burst of static and white noise.

**Glossary:**

* "Pish": Is English slang for: "crap."

*Chapter Title: Is Latin meaning: "_For life.."_

**A/N:** Please let me know what you think? Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! If you took time to read it, please let me know your thoughts. This is how I go about improving my writing. (Wooo! One more chapter go!)


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer:** I don't own V for Vendetta or any of its characters. Wishful thinking aside. If I did don't you think the movie would have ended with naked flesh and man kisses? For serious people.

**Warnings:** See original chapter for a complete set of warnings. Chapter contains mild swearing, adult themes, smut, and mushy stuff.

**Authors Note #1:** Please read and review. I am excited to see what you all think. I am open to comments, advice, and constructive criticism. This is my first V for Vendetta story so I am especially looking for constructive feedback.

*This is the final chapter of this work. (OMG My blood pressure) And I wanted to say a big thank you to all my reviewers. You really made this story worthwhile to write, so thank you for all your support! I try to respond to all my reviews, but if you were anonymous, or I somehow missed you, I just want to let you know that you seriously rock my socks. Every review was central in helping my complete this story. Long story short: I adore you.

**Words will Always Retain their Power **

_Chapter 8_ –_**"**__**Ad infinitum**__**"**_

He was startled awake the next morning by the unusual, but certainly not unwelcome feel of another persons skin brushing against his own. From there on awareness returned slowly, flowing back in that unique, almost surreal way that only comes about when you are still more asleep then you are awake. It is a time when reality turns fluid and subjective, and where the odds are weighed more by your subconscious then anything else. He breathed in slowly, gradually allowing reality to inch back until the memories of the past twenty four hours reeled past. Running compressed and slow, like the slide of homemade molasses as it escapes from the rim of the jar.

_Thick, sweet, and sinfully good._

And for a long indulgent moment, despite the sunlight streaming in through the small gap in the drapes he kept his eyes closed, concentrating instead on the expression of the moment. This was the moment for which he had waited for nearly thirty years, the moment were instead of the dark, haunting memories of the events of the previous day, his mind was already skipped forward to the possibilities that could exist only moments away. Because instead of the past, his mind now dwelled on the growing possibilities of the coming future, the thought alone was almost intoxicating. It was akin to a surreal sort of ungodly continence, uninhibited substance, and pure impossibility.

_And he couldn't help but wonder if this itself was the true nature of hope..And that somewhere along the way he had simply forgotten.._

But to be fair, he had to admit that it was not just hope that had ensnared his attention. No..it was also the easy slide of warm, sweat slicked skin that had brought his mind back from the furthermost reaches of slumber. It had been a very long time since he had woken up to this, and despite the maudlin nature of such thoughts, he wanted to savour it. He had missed this, the softer, more languid side of intimacy.

_He had missed it all, everything from the subtle mix of comforting lulls to the heady moments of vivacious anticipation. So very different from the desperate, awkwardly uncertain moments they had endured the night before.._

It was tempting to simply open his eyes as his slowly waking mind fully grasped exactly what he was firmly pressed into. But for the moment he refused to give in to temptation. Settling back into the pillows as let his fingers skim along the edges of the blanket, tracing the contours of Dominic's side, and realizing rather suddenly that this was the first time he had slept straight through the night in just about as long as he could remember.

_And really, didn't that just beat all?_

After a long moment he finally gave in, blinking the remnants of sleep away as he realized in quick succession that he was lying on the opposite side of the bed then was his habit and sleeping on his stomach to boot. With one arm hanging clear off the bed, his fingers tangling around the power cords that ghosted side of his bedside table as the limb dipped and swayed.

_His back was going to be screaming by the afternoon…He was getting too damn old for such daft acrobatics!_

Yet somehow, even with the dwelling certainty of protesting muscles and aching bones in his near future, he couldn't muster the energy to be even as much as irked, because as if on cue, Dominic shifted in his sleep, making a series of quiet, contented sounds that could have melted even the most sinister of hearts. Their legs tangling loosely as Dominic moved, arching up with a tingling prickle of leg hair as the wayward limb slid sleepily down to anchor atop him. As if the man were at loathe to stop touching him, even if it _was_ in his sleep.

_..And wasn't that just a boon for the ego.._

The man beside him slept like the dead. Exhausted in more ways then one, of that he was certain. However in this case it was the sheer depth of it, the extent to which the man beside him slept on, that struck him as being all to vunerable.._trusting. _He still wasn't sure if he deserved such blind, easy going faith. It was yet another thing about Dominic that made him all too aware of the years that lay between them.

But regardless, those thoughts certainly didn't stop him from letting his palm ghost down the length of man's flank. Flirting with the arch of a deliciously solid hip before letting his eyes wander. He had to admit that it hadn't quite sunk in yet. The fact that the sight of Dominic's hair, now thoroughly mussed out of its accustomly strict part was now _his._ He smiled at his own foolishness as his fingers itched to brush away the gelled strands, now softened by sleep and trickling down to frame the skin at his temple.

_Tempting.._

It almost didn't seem fair that Dominic should be saddled with him and all his hang-ups. He was broken goods and he knew it. Yet, for some reason the man didn't seem to notice. Indeed, if he was being perfectly honest, it was Dominic who had pursued him quite ardently, seeking _him_ out, and not the reverse. He supposed what it all came down to was the fact that Dominic knew him all too well. _Perhaps too well.. _Either way, whether it was for the good or the ill of them, he was done second guessing himself. This moment was his. And he planned to have it.

He shifted contentedly, careful not to wake his companion as he moved around so that he could see him without craning his neck. And for what felt like the first time in over three decades, he felt a small smile stretch across his lips. _It certainly was a sight to savour._ The younger man was half covered by the duvet and as stark naked as he. With his slightly dimpled bottom rucked up over the covers and on proud display for all the world to see. One arm shoved underneath the pillows, while the other lay splayed across the bed, resting overtop the sheets just inches away from his naked chest. It was an innocent, yet entirely tantalizing sight that had him tempted to burrow back under the covers and have the both of them just simply sleep the day away.

_Indeed it seemed like the perfect day for a lie in…_

But after a long while old habits began to reassert themselves and he found that he could resist the urge to be up and active no longer. Carefully he untangled himself from Dominic's sleepy embrace, eliciting only a somewhat disgruntled sound from the man beneath him as he quietly reclaimed his leg from their jumbled mess of limbs and slid slowly out of bed with a soft, covert sort of grace he had half forgotten he had.

However, it seemed as though this day was one for breaking just as many habits as he was used to following, because instead of immediately dressing he took a moment to revel in the freedom of his nudity. Working the kinks from his sore muscles, he stretched leisurely, standing stock still in the middle of the room and letting his bare feet curl contentedly into the carpet as he arched from side to side.

He didn't know why, but despite being as naked as the day of his birth and in the presence of his sleeping subordinate, he didn't feel even the slightest bit venerable. He didn't _feel_ uncomfortable. Nor did he feel the pressing urge to lose himself in the covering protection of his clothing, arraying himself in the detached professionalism that his work clothes inevitably wrought. As if a mere suit and a common black tie could be moulded into a shield against everything he feared, everything he had to lose. But now he no longer felt as though he had something to lose, something that could be taken from him and ultimately destroyed.

…_And Christ did it feel good. He felt remarkably as though after thirty long years he could finally breathe in his own skin again…_

With a curious and somewhat self satisfied air, he suppressed a snort of mirth as he surveyed the damage the events of last night had wrecked upon the bedroom. They really had done a number of on the place, it had to be said.

He spotted Dominic's gun belt shoved halfway underneath the dresser. The blinding sheen of the metal barrel glinting blindingly in the late afternoon light, melding strangely with the faux gold of his badge, clipped midway up the attaching suspenders, while something that looked suspiciously like his own shorts clung tentatively along the armrest of his dressing chair, the seat itself almost overtaken by the splayed legs of Dominic's work trousers. And that wasn't all; even their socks and shirts were thrown thoughtlessly across the carpet, crumpled in together with Dominic's work suit that lay just inside the arch of the door bedroom door, still spread wide, like an invitation.

And just because he felt like it, he let another grin stretch across his face, welcoming the strange pull of muscles and tendons that accompanied the long unused expression. Shaking his head at the foolishness that comes with such feelings, the passion and inconsequential frivolities that always seem to arrive with the beginning new romance, an aspect of himself that he thought he had lost with the last years of his youth. He picked his way over to the bureau, slipping silently into a worn pair of long forgotten jeans and a simple long sleeve navy coloured shirt, something that would have usually been followed by a work suit and one of his many restrictive ties. _But not today._ Today he stopped buttoning at the second last hole from the top, as though in some small act of personal rebellion.

The hall way wasn't much better, littered with fallen clutter and more then one shattered picture frame. His lips twitched in amusement as the sight reminded him of something his mother had been fond of saying. _'A house is not a home until at least one lamp has been broken.'_ A reference no doubt to their own household as he had grown up, where more then a few lamps and picture frames had been nobly sacrificed in the wake of hordes of adolescent boys, and overly rambunctious play.

He had a cup of strong, Darjeeling tea cooling in his hand before he let himself open the sitting rooms drapes. Hesitant, but determined as he shielded his eyes from the sudden glare, letting his eyes adjust for a long moment before steeling himself and peering out into the foggy London skyline.

He wasn't quite sure what he had expected to see, but nevertheless he was somewhat surprised to see that there was actually.._nothing_. Other then the sudden and rather stark absence of Parliament there was no mark that anything momentous had even occurred. Even the smouldering plume of smoke from the fire strewn rubble had diminished, tampering off to into pale grey obscurity, shrouded by the darkness of the surrounding clouds as the city continued on in its stead.

_In fact, it looked like it was going to rain.._

He quirked a brow at his own foolishness, because really, what else would there to be see? This was not so much a physical change..V had seen to that part of the whole affair. Instead, the state of this _new_ day was more an emotional one..a _mental _one. This was change born out of an _idea_, not a mere thing, such as an object or a building. This was a change that would be represented through the people, through people like Evey Hammond and Dominic. And yes, perhaps even himself..

Still scanning the view, he raised the cup to his lips, breathing in the tempting aroma as he took a small, cautionary sip, grunting in undisguised pleasure as the warm, aromatic liquid ran down his throat. Swirling the dregs he turned away from the window, ignoring the painful twinge from his injured hand throbbed reproachfully, protesting his every motion.

With a critical, but not regretful eye, his gaze was inevitably drawn towards the gaping hole in his previously pristine wall, somehow managing to look far more vicious then it had only a few hours earlier. Careful not to upset his tea, he slowly stooped to inspect it. It was a sickening mess of jagged angles and punched out plaster, the hole itself almost overtaken by a cloud of puffy pink insulation that threatened to overspill the boundaries of the bloodstained edges. His fist clenched spasmodically in memory, throbbing dully underneath the bandages as though in reminder as he settled down in the chair facing it.

_And for a long moment he entertained the strikingly appealing idea of never having it fixed…_

The radio, preset for at six am, had been long since switched on, shifting through its usual selection of soft jazz and deep masculine tones. And for a while he sat in silence, only idly listening before the next song took him by surprise. He could help but pause in place, his lips curling upwards as station filled the room with the smoky, dulcet tones of Julie London as she crooned out the chorus to Arthur Hamilton's iconic song, "Cry me a River". He had missed this song. It had been his mothers favourite, and he had many fond memories growing up of watching her flit and sway around the house, hips slowly rocking as she sung along. He had been in the room when Sutler had ordered it to be put on the black list, deeming the profession of saloon singing and pin up posing to be grossly indecent. It had broken his mother's heart.

On impulse he flipped on the telly, not really surprised to find all ten of the channels he actually subscribed to wreathed in static, even the BTN was uncharacteristically silent, displaying only their logo and the message for their viewers to stay tuned for further broadcasting. '_Perhaps the world really had ended after all.' _He thought with a detersive snort.

Satisfied he switched it off, turning instead to his land line, blinking in disbelief as he took in the glaring flash of: "34 new messages" emboldened in with an insistent red coloured text. His cell phone was the same story, except the voicemail had been overtopped, and instead the words "56 new calls" met his eyes.

"Bloody hell.."He breathed, shaking his head as he took another long, fortifying sip of tea before settling back into the cushions as he tried to imagine the mood of the night before. He hadn't given it much thought at the time, but he supposed that while he had been tramping through the long abandoned tunnels of the underground and watching the world change, everyone who had not been at Parliament must have been panicking. He wondered how many from the party would have simply disappeared by now, drifting back into the wood work and the protection of everyday obscurity. Knowing that with the break of this uncertain, but undeniably _new_ day would bring nothing but pain and retribution for former party members and their supporters. He wondered too, somewhat morbidly, just how many new bodies would be adorning the glinting metal tables of Deliha's old morgue. But he supposed that like many things these days, only time would tell..

He was well into his second cup when he heard it, a barely audible rustling sound from just outside the front door. He listened for a long breathless moment, panic and tension flaring momentarily in his breast as he waited on tender hooks for the bell to ring, or the ominous echo of fists pounding demandingly through the solid oak door. But there was nothing. Slowly the panic and tension began to ebb away, hastened moments later by the small, near silent scuffle that heralds the inclusion of shoe soles grinding down against worn concrete, the noise gradually dying away, swallowed by the return of a breathless silence.

He counted each and every second until the fifth full minute had passed, and with a slow, deliberate movement he levered himself out of the chair, draining his cup in one scalding gulp before reaching down underneath, his hand disappearing up to the elbow as the sound of rending Velcro echoed throughout the room. The hand returned a moment later, bringing an unregistered handgun, a good sized Semmerling LM4 out from its hiding place. Just one of the many handguns he had shrewdly stashed throughout the house for just such an occasion that his side arm might be out of his reach.

_Prudent bouts of paranoia did have it's perks after all.._

As quietly as possible he cocked the weapon, descending the stairs cautiously but determinedly, figuring that if someone truly wanted him dead, he would have heard more about it by now. Peering through the spy hole he blinked into the late afternoon light, carefully taking in the empty front step and surrounding street before he finally unlocked the deadbolts and swung the door open in one swift movement.

There was no one there; in fact there was no activity visible on the entire street at all, something that by itself, on any other day, would have come across as decidedly eerie. Instead, resting just level with his sock clad feet was a small, inconspicuous brown paper box. It was neither large, nor particularly small, and bore no identifiable markings of any kind. Indicating credibility to the theory he held earlier that it had been hand delivered.

Pausing for a long moment he listened intently, caution and professional discretion initially winning out as he listened for the telltale tick of an explosive device, cautiously feeling around the tightly wrapped edges for anything remotely untoward. Eventually however curiosity overpowered that of caution and he holstered the Derringer, scanning the street one more time before gingerly bringing the package inside.

He unwrapped it in the kitchen, fingers carefully peeling off the tape rather then ripping until he had uncovered what looked to be a disarmingly normal looking shoe box, much like something you might purchase at the market, or a local chain store. But whatever he might have been expecting when he eased off the lid, it certainly hadn't been what was resting at the bottom, nestled admist a protective layer of crumpled up newspaper. Bewildered he turned the case over in his hands, inspecting the old, dog-eared DVD case closely. The cover was emblazed with an old black and white photo of a moustached, sword wielding gentleman and fine, buxom young woman that was held firmly in his embrace.

"_The Count of Monte Crisco,"_ "Starring Robert Donat as Edmund Dantes" the title proudly proclaimed. The back included a short, but descriptive summary that he was sure would have been remarkably helpful, save for the fact that the words had been made barely legible due to an old stain smeared clear across the back. He was almost ready to pass it off as having been a package that had been delivered to the wrong address, but his curiosity got the better of him and as he made to slide off the cover, a small envelope came fluttering out, sliding into the floor at his feet.

Much like the package there was no writing on the outside, the envelope itself standing out as seemingly unremarkable in virtually every regard, constructed out of the same bland, store stock paper that one could easily pick up at any corner shop in London. But it wasn't until he had broken the glue seal to reveal a single page of blurry looking handwriting that he finally understood why.

_Dear Mr. Finch,_

_Firstly, my apologies for the clandestine nature of this correspondence, much like V, I have come to find relative comfort in the protection of anonymity. Besides, if you don't mind me saying so, I think we both know that you needed the extra sleep that would be afforded to you rather then if I were to bother you on a Sunday morning with issues of import that could be just as easily relayed in this letter. As I rather feel Inspector, that this fight is only just beginning.._

_ As discussed..or rather alluded to by myself last night, I wish to aid in the rebuilding of our country in anyway I can. Or at least in any capacity the British public will have of me. Much remains to be seen, but at the very least I plan to set what needs to be done in motion. V left his life's work in the hands of a person that he felt represented the people. And while I put little stock in the political ability of myself, that trust and belief he placed in me will not be squandered. I plan to do my best to fulfill those wishes, in his honour. And in regards to this, god willing, I am set to address the people this evening. Everything has been arranged and it will air on the BTN at 6pm this evening. If you are not otherwise detained of course._

_ This country is going to need people, good people. People the public can trust, people that have always wanted the best for the nation and its citizens. People with the ability and foresight to rebuild this country and see forward to its future. And not to put so fine a point on it Inspector, but I mean people like yourself. I may not be an adept or even astute politician, but what I can say about myself is that I am a good judge of character, and I think that no matter what you may see of yourself, I believe that you are a good man Mr. Finch. Something that if you didn't already notice, has been in rather short supply as of late. _

_ I suppose what I am asking is that I want, no, that I __**need**__ you to stand with me in this endeavour. I feel that I will need your advice and support in the coming months, and I know England certainly will. We have a great and somewhat foreboding task to fulfill Mr. Finch, but V believed it could be done. He believed that we, as a people could make it happen. And that is certainly a destiny that I wish to fulfill._

_ V recited an idiom to me once, not long after I came to live in the Shadow Gallery. I didn't understand it then, but ironically at the end of things I finally realize what he meant. And I believe that the definition of the phrase holds true in regards to yourself, just as it did for me. "Vi Veri Veniversum Vivus Vici." And if your Latin is as rusty as my own, it is translated as: "By the power of truth, I, while living, have conquered the universe." Because through the acts I have witnessed from you last night and indeed into the morning, in spite of your occupation and status as a leading party member, I have come upon the realization that what you sought all along __**was**__ simply the truth. Nothing more, and nothing less._

_You, Mr. Finch are a paradox to even consider, but I see now that your loyalties, you're __**true**__ loyalties have rarely wavered from what you believed. And on that note, I suppose I should share this with you. When I came to see him on the day of the 5__th__, V told me that he had had this entire revolution planned, organized and figured out to the finest, most infinitesimal detail. But for the longest time he remained actionless, held back due to a single missing piece. What he didn't have was you. Believe it or not Mr. Finch, it was you that V ultimately needed to succeed in this revolution. He needed you much like he needed me, because we both knew deep down, long before V and the Old Bailey, that there __**was**__ something terribly wrong with this country. And despite the choices that we may have made in the past, we were both waiting, whether we knew it or not, for the chance of redemption. Waiting for a chance to make it right.. _

_But most of all Inspector, I believe he needed you, because in a way I represented only a portion of the people. You, through the grace of your status, position, and beliefs represented the other portion. You are the definitive representation of the ideas, and indeed ideals that V stood for. Like the two separate sides of the same well worn coin.. You, in essence Mr. Finch, were the missing piece. Someone who valued the truth, and sought to bring about justice, freedom, and fairness for all. And someone who in the end, despite all odds..all the risks would inevitably fight for what he believed._

_In the end, I think V knew it would come down to us. The two sides of this whole sordid affair coming together to bring about the start of this new day. Because from the beginning V knew something that we did not, that ultimately both sides of the people needed to come together and decide this countries future. Together in unity for the sake of difference._

_But V's proverb applies to you in another, far different way. As you well know, V wore a mask against the world, and wore it in the place of his own face. And in this year, if I have learned anything, it is that we __**all**__ wear masks. Some of them however, much like yours, are hidden in plain sight. Forgive me if I come across as blunt, but what I am endeavouring to say is that I hope he makes you happy Inspector. You are both good men and judging from what I can tell, correct me if I am in err, but I believe he loves you just as much as you seem to for him. You deserve to be happy Mr. Finch, and I dare say that you've earned it._

_Yours, Evelyn Hammond._

_P.S: In the meantime Inspector, if I am not mistaken I believe you will find this film enjoyable. It was his favourite and it quickly became mine. Though, for much different reasons I would think. _

He sat down heavily, letting the breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding out in a slow, breathy whoosh. The silence that followed it was pregnant and heady. It would seem as though the world would indeed continue turning after all. And yet another chance for redemption had been delivered into his unassuming hands.

He snorted with amused disbelief as he realized just how utterly buggered up and complicated his life had become. Not just in the last year where the hunt for V had all but consumed his life, but all the way back to the day when Councillor Sutler had rose to the party platform, his gloved fist raised high as words of terror and hate spewed like bile from his sneering lips.

And idly, like a voyageur dabbling in the complexities of someone else's life, he entertained the notion of what it would be like to live a boring and exceedingly average life, one where masked men didn't revolutionize a nation and harsh dictators weren't willingly elected by the people. But with a small smile, thinking back through the years to the countless dinners and shared glances, to the moments of victory, tragedy, and trepid normalcy, moments where Dominic had never been far from his side, he decided that the idea of a normal, boring life could bloody well stuff it for all he cared.

_He had what he wanted. _

It might be more then he deserved. More then he was meant to have considering the things he had done and the regrets he knew he would keep. But here it was a second chance that was his for the taking. And god help him, but he planned to hold on to it.

_Indeed, for a man who had just had his entire world drastically change barely twenty four hours ago he felt remarkably content._

He shook his head minutely, barely missing the ghost of Big Ben as the hour passed him by unmarked, the first time in longer then he could remember where the iconic clock's deep, dulcet tones failed to echo throughout the chill city air. In a way, its absence made him wonder. What monuments would they build in its stead? What could ever be created that could accurately portray the nature of the horror people had committed on one another here? How could a monument sum up on the power of a single, written word, or the significance of a strong, immoveable silence? And in relation, how does one portray such emotions such as weakness and strength? Hate and love? Of that he could not even begin to fathom. But he hoped in some small way that it might include the words of a woman, a woman so strong and so full of love that with her final breath she sought to reach out and pass on that lesson. _That the power of love in all its forms will always negate the perceived power of terror and hate_.

In a way, Valerie had merely purported an idea. But it was an idea that in some small way lived in the hearts of millions. And unlike so many rallies and protests that had come and gone in the years before, her message was the only one that offered the people what this country had so desperately needed. _The hope for a better future._ He would contact Miss Hammond after the broadcast with his answer. It was time to make things right. The people needed to know.

_It was time for change. _

But for now, despite the encroaching nature of the tasks that faced them all, there was somewhere else rather important that he was meant to be. He left the missive atop the open box, ignoring the hesitant, and somewhat halting tone of the radio host warbling out from the stereo as he crossed the room and made his way down the hall. All else considered he figured that the gloomy forecast predicted for the next week was surely the least of their problems.

Dominic was right where he left him, laying spread eagled across the sheets; his spine rolled back, limbs supine and lazy, still flushed with muted arousal. The sight reminded him of a John Donne poem. Lyrical, complex, and inherently sensual. He couldn't help but lick his lips in anticipation..

Stripping quickly, he pulled back the covers; having to do some seriously intricate yanking and unfolding to dislodge him from the mummy-like shroud Dominic had managed to form in his absence. And as he slipped back into bed, his return elicited a few partially legible, sleep laden sounds. The words muffled entirely as Dominic squirmed around restlessly, his face mashed determinedly into a mound of stolen pillows even as his long fingers skittered blindly across the surface of the bed. He could only grin, watching with unveiled amusement as Dominic's hands skimmed across the covers, deliberately seeking him out until they fell across his naked skin.

He allowed the man move as he willed, letting his hand rest across the breadth of the man's shoulders as Dominic's fingers curled contentedly around his forearm, huffing indignantly when he let the cold air in as he settled into the blankets, straightening out the mess with a few well timed flicks and pulls at the duvet. Dominic however, was somewhat less impressed.

He was tempted to point out that this was _his_ bed, and that they wouldn't be facing this problem if the man hadn't somehow managed to half strangle himself amongst the covers in the first place. But he didn't, getting distracted somewhere along the line as he arranged the last cover around them, the movement wafting an enticing back draft of scents towards him. And he felt his face flush as he realized it was their scents that were now infused into the fabric. _It had been a very long time since his bed had smelt of another. Far too long in fact.._

There was a few beats of near silence, accompanied only by the ever present rustling of linen sheets whispering across naked skin before Dominic emerged. Levering himself up from a particularly cushy section of the worn blue duvet, apparently oblivious to the fact that while he had been mucking up the sheets and stealing pillows, he had been busy having several epiphanies, or near heart attacks, (he wasn't quite sure which) out in the living room.

"What was that all about?" He muttered sleepily, finally raising his head to peer at him blearily through a thatch of mussed brown hair, the dishevelled strands hanging over his eyes in a way that really had no business being as endearing as it actually was.

For a long moment he remained silent, simply smiling up at the ceiling as the man fussed about. Letting himself get pushed and prodded around as Dominic settled back into the covers. It should have seemed impossible, him having all this. Yet, somehow, even with all his doubts, all his insecurities and regrets, out of everything that seemed the least likely, _this_..the feeling of Dominic shifting in close, the length of his side coming up to press against his, somehow seemed the most real. Almost as if his life had finally come full circle..

"The future I should think." He replied with a stretch. His eyes dancing with silent laughter as Dominic made a vaguely unimpressed noise and hooked the down curve of his hip with his calf, dragging him deeper into the muddled sea of skin and coverlets, making no apologies for his wordless demands as he towed him snugly to his side, bringing him down for a slow, but decidedly sensual kiss that made him forget all about masked avengers, exploding buildings, and the unprecedented nature of their new future. Because at long last, the events of his present was the only place he ever wanted to be..

And for some time, that was all that was said on the matter….

**Glossary:** Chapter Title is Latin for: "_To infinity without end"_

**A/N:** Please let me know what you think? Reviews and constructive critiquing are love!


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